Hookup of Epic Proportions
by Zoop
Summary: Part 2 of Out of All Proportions. A family seeking a new life in Gondor gets derailed in northern Dunland. All but one hired sword is slain by ruffians who nearly kill the rest of them as well, but for an unexpected savior. COMPLETE
1. A Fresh Start

A/N: This story is the sequel to "Misfire of Global Proportions," and takes place roughly eighteen months later. It would be a good idea to read the predecessor first, as many of the characters' backstories are explained there.

* * *

**A Fresh Start**

Gwennithil wiped another tear away as she watched the Greenway wind away behind them. Her parents sat together on the buckboard of the horse-drawn cart, her father handling the reins. Five hired swords rode alongside them on horseback, keeping a wary eye on the lands and woods to either side.

The words 'necessary' and 'unfortunate' were frequently mentioned whenever she asked why they had pulled up roots and packed their belongings for the southerly trek. She could understand wanting to leave the thief-ridden Chetwood well behind them, but Archet wasn't so lawless that hasty departure from the entire _country_ was necessary. Why could they not settle in the populous Bree-town? Why travel hundreds of miles to the south, pass eastward through open, hostile country known to have savages behind every bush and Orcs up every tree, in hopes of reaching Gondor? The King's own country would probably be safer and better managed, and it was true her father had family there, but _getting_ to distant Gondor would be dangerous.

Biting her lip anxiously, she thought again of Serondaen and his unknown fate. It had been nearly two years since the War's end; surely that was sufficient time for him to return. His name was never mentioned among those lost, and so few from Bree-land chose to join the war to the east, if he _had_ fallen, surely his death would have been noted. She had but to wait, and her betrothed would come to claim her hand as he'd promised. Gwen held tightly to the hope that he still lived, and would return as soon as he was able.

Except now, she would not be there to receive him. It was a bitter draught to taste, and one which had caused much strife. Gwen still didn't want to speak with her parents, preferring to pout obstinately in the back of the cart among the boxes of linens and cookware. She'd stubbornly held her silence for three days of travel, hoping they would seek her forgiveness for this gross inconvenience. Neither of them had yet seen fit to do so.

Packed away as well were her finer dresses. By no means a highborn lady, she still kept as closely to the fashions as she could, often mimicking the latest fare with a deft hand at the needle. But her father insisted she wear little better than her work clothes until they reached less hostile country, so not to draw unwanted attention to their station and wealth. As if they had any left to speak of. Nearly all the family's fortunes had been given over to these men for their services. Very little remained, and was guarded closely by her father.

She plucked at her faded dress with disgust, and glared at the worn toes of her boots peeking out from beneath the skirts. There would be no new dresses for her in Minas Tirith, she thought crossly. Not for a good long while.

"Be of good cheer, lass," Berendir said with a smile as he rode beside the cart on a tall stallion. "I spent part of my boyhood in Gondor; tis a beautiful country. And the White City where we are bound is a marvel. I trust you will fall in love with the land _and_ its people in no time." Waving his hand dismissively behind them, he added, "Archet is but a mean village by comparison, and the Chetwood a vile holding for ruffians and murderers. The seat of the King is a wondrous place."

"If you don't mind the neighbors," another of the hired men grumbled. Geldagnir never spoke above a mutter, and always saw the dismal side of everything. Gwen did not much care for him.

"What, Rohan?" Berendir replied with amusement. "There are few as noble and brave as the Rohirrim. Recall the tales of their victories against the White Wizard's fell beasts? Those cursed Orcs he bred? Ah, that I could have fought at their side. What a battle it must have been." He gazed wistfully ahead.

"Ain't the horselords I'm talkin' about," Dag replied gloomily. "It's them Orcs what survived the war. Clever little bastards, they are. Don't even hear'em comin', then they're on you. Bands of'em roamin' about, I hear; some hooked up with goblins from the east and wild men from the hills. Heard rumors of them Uruk-hai still about, too. Ain't a safe place, is Rohan. _And_ they're still hurtin' from the war. Ain't tidied up yet. Like as not, there's still burned out villages and lands that can't be farmed."

"Well, we are not bound for Rohan," his leader said confidently.

"We won't be able to avoid the country entirely, remember," Maevodh spoke up. "We haven't much choice in routes, with this wagon. The passes are treacherous through the Misty Mountains, and we won't want to be in Dunland long enough to take the southern route through Gondor. Best we cut through Rohan at the Gap. Take a rest in Edoras, then move on eastward. That's if the family still wants to make for Minas Tirith."

"We do," confirmed Gwen's father, Faelur. "No sense in getting settled only to find we're squatting on land owned by another. I'd rather get a proper deed from the king himself. And I have been long away from that country. Much has happened; likely a good deal has changed. My kin could have fled their holdings. Best to go to Minas Tirith first and learn of their whereabouts."

"There you are, then," Maevodh replied smugly. "We'll be traveling through Rohan sure as anything."

"I'd rather have open country about," Bronhador chimed in, "than get lost in the foothills. The White Mountains are not so easily managed as they were before the War."

"The better to see them filthy Orcs comin', eh?" Maevodh laughed.

"If not for our duty, I would welcome it," Bron replied. "They are despicable creatures that offer nothing to the world but cruelty. I would rather see their heads on pikes then upon their shoulders."

"You'll have all the open country you could want," Dag groused. "And like as not, all the Orcs too. Gotta pass through Dunland, that cursed place. Ask any horselord; they'll tell you what a cesspit _that_ country is. Stinks of traitorous Men and bloody Orcs."

"Mind your tongue, young man," Faelur snapped, glancing at his wife. Maeglethril seemed uncomfortable with the rough talk of the hired men.

"If memory serves," Nibendu pointed out, "there's a village along our way here before long. Hadn't we ought to be thinking about taking a rest for the night?"

"Or a pint and a bint," Dag muttered. Nibendu laughed loudly, and Gwen barely stifled a giggle. Her mother's cheeks flared red, and Faelur shot an angry look over his shoulder at the swordsman.

"You'll take your rest in the stables, Dag," Berendir growled reproachfully. The offending man just shrugged.

Gwen's brow furrowed the longer she thought about what they said. Looking up at Berendir, she asked quietly, "Are there many Orcs in Gondor?"

"Aye, a fair few," he replied. "Mostly from the Black Land. Those that survived the battles in Gondor and up in Mirkwood." Noting his avid audience, he affected a grim countenance and a deep voice. "But worse than any of them were the Uruk-hai of the White Wizard. Bred from Men and Orcs, they were. Ugly and brutish monsters. No other breed of Orc was as foul or cursed as the Uruk-hai from Isengard."

Gwen's eyes were wide with delicious fear of such creatures, and she whispered, "Is it true they were destroyed?"

"Nay," he said, shaking his head. "There are always rumors of them, as Dag says. Whether they be true tales or fancy, none can say, for none live who meet them. They are wicked beasts. It is said they have a far greater hunger for the flesh of men than any other Orc."

The young woman gasped with shock at such a vile revelation. Her father rolled his eyes.

"Stop filling the girl's head with such nonsense," Faelur admonished the guardsmen's leader. "You will give her nightmares."

"I am not a child, father," Gwen muttered sullenly.

Berendir winked at her and grinned. She ducked her chin shyly, but smiled in return. Perhaps the months-long journey would not be so bad after all.

* * *

The 'village' Nibendu recalled was little more than a cluster of three buildings huddled together like vagabonds sharing warmth. To Gwen's dismay, there was no inn, nor were the inhabitants friendly enough to offer better lodging than the stables to any of them.

"You'll make do," Mae scolded her daughter as Gwen protested the poor accommodations. "These people have next to nothing and live in an unpeopled land. Do not begrudge their wariness, for that is how they have survived."

Faelur ensured his wife and daughter were comfortably settled in the deep straw of the stall, and positioned himself at the entrance. It wasn't that he didn't trust their hired men... well, no, he _didn't_ trust them, not with regards to his maiden daughter. Especially that Berendir. The man was more than twice her age, and showed far more than protective interest in the girl. To Faelur's displeasure, she seemed too responsive to him. That would not do.

Assuming his folk could not be found easily, if at all, he would need the surety of Gwen's innocence to establish his family within the proper circles. If she made eyes at the man and forced his hand, Faelur would be extremely put out.

Sighing, he patted the breast pocket of his coat, reassuring himself that the few coins they possessed were still in their place. He'd given a few coppers to the stable's owner for the night, taking care not to show how much money they had. He hoped they hadn't looked too closely at the wagon's contents, both the goods and his child. They had little wealth remaining after engaging these men, which made his daughter's worth all the more dear. While his wife's work would most assuredly gain him introductions with the 'proper' folks of Minas Tirith, he knew a worthy match for his daughter would be the first step in assuming their comfortable new life in Gondor. If he could keep her from enticing the hired men long enough to broker a marriage contract, that is.

The men set up watches over their charges' rest as well as their goods. They spoke in low voices so not to disturb the ladies' slumber. Now and then, Faelur caught words and phrases. It comforted him that they spoke most about the road ahead, the possible dangers, and the importance of their duty to Faelur's family. Perhaps the hired men weren't without honor, regardless that they swore a bit more than was proper in the presence of ladies.

Faelur shifted to a more comfortable position, and grudgingly allowed himself to sleep.

Lying awake, Gwen lamented to herself how her life had taken such an undesired turning. Forced to sleep in a pile of straw! She would be picking bits of it out of her hair for the rest of her life, she was certain.


	2. A New Life Begins

**A New Life Begins**

"Nûrzgrat, could you walk with me?" Brianna asked, seeing him gathering up supplies for another extended absence. The gruff Uruk had been taking longer and longer 'hunting' trips over the past few months, sometimes lasting a week at a time. She knew well what he was running away from.

Straightening, Nûrzgrat flicked his gaze around the clearing. They'd been here for nearly two years, ever since the end of the War that destroyed their home and crippled their Master. He'd led the seven of them out of the ruins of Isengard, bound for a place where they could escape their fellows' fate, rebuild, regroup... Then the women came into their lives like debris from an explosion, and everything... changed.

One of their number hadn't made it this far. Nûlkol crossed a dangerous line, one Nûrzgrat was contemplating calling him out for, when this female, Brianna, ended the argument with two well-thrown knives. The chain of events that followed the slaying, oddly enough, secured Brianna and her friend, Sandy, as full members of the awkwardly-formed clan.

He'd had to admit it at some point over the last year or so. They _were_ a clan. They looked out for each other. And that included the human females who'd literally fallen into their laps. Though the remaining Uruks had their differences, were bred to operate as weapons for a specific, temporary purpose, never intended or expected to reproduce and thrive, somehow they fit together and managed to escape more than the quick and bloody demise of their kind.

Fuck. Even the _Elves_ rather liked them.

His gaze fell on Sandy, holding out her fingers for Ashmau to clutch as he took a few tentative steps toward her encouraging smile. A lump formed in Nûrzgrat's throat. The boy looked so damn much like Morkoth, at the right angle. Even frowned with concentration just like his da. Nûrzgrat well remembered the squalling, blood and fluid-coated Orcling in the arms of Galadriel, some sort of Elf queen or other, who stayed long enough to aid Sandy in those last few months before Ashmau's birth. Then she actually delivered the whelp, beaming as much as any over his vigor and health.

The distant laughter of Razkaar playing with Ilsa, likely more hide-and-seek, came to his ears, and he squeezed his eyes shut. That little girl had fallen into their laps almost as suddenly and unexpectedly as Sandy and Brie, though she wasn't from another world, nor was she human. Now in the range of four years old, she'd eventually shaken off most of the neglect and abuse of her people, though she still guarded her food fiercely at mealtimes, a habit learned from the dogs she used to fight for scraps. If Razkaar hadn't proven to be an attentive and stern older brother, she might not have come along so well, and now the two were nigh inseparable.

Nûrzgrat's focus shifted to hammering and swearing, sounds that often accompanied anything Ghrulagûrz and Frûmâdûrz engaged in together. Ghru and Brianna's shelter had developed a leak in the roof, and Ghru was rather obsessed with making everything perfect in their 'nest' for the coming whelp. Thakûf was trying to 'help,' but he was awkward and gangly as his body started filling out toward adulthood, and far too often caused clumsy accidents. The relative quiet of their settlement was frequently broken by Thak's urgent 'Sorry! Sorry!' as he struggled to undo what he'd done.

Nûrzgrat looked back at Brianna, big as a fucking aurochs and clearly miserable. Sandy had ridden her pregnancy well, but she had the body for it. Brie was a skinny little thing when she arrived, and didn't put on much weight with all the fleeing and running for their lives that occupied their days back then. He still questioned why he paired her with Ghru, who easily stood a foot and a half taller and a hundred pounds heavier. She'd have been better off with Nûrzgrat, if he hadn't had personal reasons for pushing her at someone, _anyone_ else.

"Day's goin'," he grumbled. "Gotta be off."

"You can take a few minutes for a friend, can't you?" she asked, raising her eyebrows.

"Your 'few minutes' will likely take a few hours," he groused, but dropped his pack and reluctantly joined her. "Oughta be your mate takin' you for a walk, not me."

"My mate's busy," she said, smiling, though it was a pained smile. "I'm supposed to walk as much as I can, remember?"

Rolling his eyes, he nodded. The Elves that still dropped in on them from time to time all seemed to be on strict orders from Galadriel and Celeborn to check on Brie's progress, and they all agreed that walking would get that whelp out of her earlier than normal, maybe sparing her the last month or so carrying such a big child.

As they slowly walked into the forest, he growled, "Wonder where them Elves are now, eh? So interested in your whelping, showin' up at all hours."

"I'm sure they'll be around sooner or later," she replied mildly. "They only come when they're heading west, you know."

He shrugged. Nûrzgrat didn't pretend to know or care what the _golug-hai_ did 'out west' or what this 'sailing' business was about. He only knew that, ever since the first strained encounter, they hadn't been able to get rid of the bastards. Worse than animals getting into the food stores, another bit of vermin that took great efforts to eliminate.

But he had to admit their attentions provided some comforts. Bread, for one. Sure, it was that nasty waybread, but it was a tolerable change of pace from their nearly exclusively meat diet. The women certainly appreciated it. Taught the little clan what was edible and what not in this part of the Misty Mountains, as well. They ate better here than they had on the march.

"You've been quiet," Brie commented. "We haven't seen much of you lately, either."

Again, he shrugged without otherwise responding.

"You're hardly done from one hunt when you're preparing to leave for another," she tried again. "We have enough dried meat to last the winter, and plenty of hides for the beds." They were a good distance from the encampment by now, not even the hammering still audible. "Talk to me, Nûrzgrat, like you used to."

He briefly met her eyes and looked away, face flushing with guilt. Of the two women, he was closest to this one, and she could read him well. He'd unloaded so much pain onto her shoulders, and she'd absorbed it all, passing no judgment on him, demanding no blood for the terrible things he'd done while in service to the White Hand. Though she was more friend than anything else, and he knew well the line in the sand he could never cross with her lest Ghru give him a pounding he might not walk away from, he still regretted that decision to put her under the broken Uruk's protection. As with Morkoth and Sandy, that was a one-way path that neither regretted or wished to abandon.

"I'm thinkin' 'bout leavin'," he rumbled quietly.

"Leaving?" she asked, incredulous. Whatever she thought he might say, that wasn't it. "Leaving _here_?"

"Yeah," he nodded, bowing his head, unable to meet her eyes. "You got... your own young, your own mates. You don't need me anymore."

"We'll always need you, Nûrzgrat," she insisted, placing a soft hand on his upper arm. "Perhaps... we don't say it enough. You're a good leader and a wise man."

"Don't need leaders," he growled. "You got Ghru, Sandy's got Morkoth. You don't need me."

"You're our friend," Brie said, swallowing hard. "We trust you. You're very good to us. You're a good hunter, a fierce warrior... Oh Nûrzgrat, please don't leave!"

He glanced at her as her voice broke. The woman's eyes were brimming with tears. He looked away again. "I gotta watch. It's gettin' harder. It's causin' me... pain." He roughly rubbed his face. "I thought I could ignore it, but I was wrong. It hurts _so fucking much_." He shook his head. "I just don't know how much longer I can stand it."

"Nûrzgrat," Brianna said shakily, "I failed you. I'm sorry."

"You didn't do nothin'," he replied, turning away. "How could you find a mate for me? Where the fuck would you look? You can't go nowhere without protection, and look what's protectin' you? One of us. You run into Men, and they'll kill us, take you... Who knows what they'd do to you? You wouldn't be safe, no more'n Sandy was. And Ghru would be dead." Straightening as he tried to master himself, he added, "It don't matter what them Elves said. They're just a small group. It just don't matter. Orc hunters ain't gonna ask our names first."

"Nûrzgrat...," the woman said flatly.

"What?"

"I think my water just broke."

"What's that mean?"

"I'm going to have this baby right now," she replied, her voice beginning to shake. Her hand went back to his arm and gripped it tightly, while her other tucked under her distended belly. She stared into the distance as if listening for something.

"Whuh... what?" Nûrzgrat grunted with sudden alarm.

"Oh... uh... oh my," Brie mumbled, then slowly sank to her knees. "It's coming fast. I need to lie down."

"What... here? _Now_?" he cried, his voice higher than normal as panic set in. When Sandy popped, they were in the camp, Elves were there, people who knew what the fuck to do. He was in the cabin when Ashmau came, sure, but he wasn't anywhere near enough to see what actually happened. There was screaming, that's about all he remembered now, over a year later.

Brie settled herself on the ground and pulled up her skirts. Nûrzgrat was no stranger to unclothed females, but this was _Brie_. Entirely different. And he'd never seen a female's nether regions covered in the fluids of childbirth, all the way down her legs, either. Without warning, Brianna spread her legs right in front of him.

"Whuh... what do I do?" he stammered, slowly sinking to his knees. He couldn't take his eyes off her. It wasn't remotely arousing, what was happening down there. It was like watching a mouth opening.

"You're... gonna have to help... the baby come," she gasped, already breathless from the strength of the contractions that had, up to this point, been mild and annoying. She'd been having them for months with no sign of _real_ labor coming. Now, all of a sudden... "Oh god, I feel like I have to push already. What is it about Orc children that... when they want out... they _really, really_ want out? Like, right now!"

"Uh... heh... we got... we got minds of our own," Nûrzgrat replied shakily, trying to calm himself.

Brie was having a much harder time of it. While she remembered everything about Sandy's experience, and recalled all the advice and soothing words, none of those things were _here_. She had Nûrzgrat, staring between her legs like he was about to be confronted with a cave troll. Not exactly encouraging or comforting. And the urge to push was so strong she had no power to deny it.

"Ghru should be here, not me," he muttered. "Not me. Should be him. Your mate oughta be here."

"Don't you _dare_ leave me, Nûrzgrat!" Brie growled between contractions. "Don't... leave me, please."

"Whuh... whuh...," he gasped, eyes widening in horror, "what the fuck is that?"

"Jesus, I hope it's the he-... _nnnnnggghh_," she groaned, scrunching her face up with the effort.

"It's, uh... it's dark. Um... uh... it's got hair," he stuttered uncertainly.

"Then... then it's the head, thank god. Okay, wait, have to...," she started to say, before another contraction stole her breath away. Gathering herself, she took a deep breath and pushed hard.

When the urge passed, she reached for him. "Take my hands, please."

Uncertain, Nûrzgrat took hold of both hands, then nearly toppled off-balance when she pulled hard, using him for leverage. "Dammit, warn me next time!" he cried, getting himself set to resist. Then another contraction hit her, and she squeezed his hands and nearly pulled his arms out of the sockets.

"Fuuuuuck!" he roared. He never knew Brie had such a strong grip.

"Sorry! Sorry!" she whimpered. "It hurts."

Looking down, he nearly fainted. Emerging from between her legs was a dark mass covered in blood and hair. He could well believe passing something like that would hurt worse than _making_ the thing had.

Each time the urge hit her, she squeezed his hands nearly hard enough to crush the bones and came close to pulling his arms loose from his shoulders, but he held on and endured, grimacing almost as much as she did with each push. He'd spread his own legs and extended them around her so he could brace himself, and dug his heels into the soft earth. Slowly, excruciatingly slowly, the black-haired dome of the whelp's head was coming out.

Through the pain of Brie's unexpectedly strong grip, he barked, "Head's out. Fuck. What do I do?"

"Huh-hold it... hold it up... _careful_," she gasped.

Letting go of her hands gratefully, Nûrzgrat reached down to cradle the whelp's head and keep it off the ground and out of the mess. "What now?"

"Just... just hold it... don't twist... don't move," Brie moaned, leaning back on her hands. Then another contraction took her.

He could almost feel the force behind her push, carried through the whelp's body. He felt an almost instinctive urge to _pull_, to help the child out, but he dared not.

Panting with the effort, Brie rested for a moment. Those damn shoulders... always the hardest... Sandy struggled for quite awhile with Ashmau at this point. "I'm... going to... push really... really hard, Nûrz. I want... want you to... to pull... _carefully_. Really... god damned... carefully."

"All right," he nodded obediently. "Carefully."

"Yes." She took a few deep breaths, feeling the build-up coming. "Get ready." She hooked her arms under her knees, spreading herself wider, and curled forward.

Nûrzgrat could barely breath as the wave hit Brie again and she growled low in her throat, pushing for all she was worth. He couldn't even swallow as he applied a gentle but firm pull, his large clawed hands wrapped around the whelp's head. He dimly noted the perfect little pointed ears before they were hidden under his palms.

It took two more pushes to get the shoulders out, then the whelp slid right into Nûrzgrat's surprised hands.

Feeling the relief, Brie collapsed on the ground, thighs quaking and breath coming in deep huffs. The Uruk found himself cradling the child in his arms as he'd done Ashmau a few hours after the boy's birth, after everyone else had fawned over him. The little mouth was open wide in an angry cry, eyes squeezed shut, fists waving in the air.

Tears welled in his eyes. He'd never seen anything so painfully beautiful in his entire life.

"Nûrzgrat," Brie breathed weakly, "is it a boy or a girl?"

Blinking, he looked, and a slight smile curved his mouth. "It's a girl."

"Let me see her," she smiled, and Nûrzgrat reluctantly passed the whelp into her trembling arms. Shifting around, he helped her sit up and lean against him so she could see the little one's face. "I... can't... Nûrzgrat, help me. I need to try feeding her."

"Sure," he mumbled, reaching around to Brie's front and fumbling with the ties on her bodice. This was positively more awkward than being presented with her naked underpinnings. At least she managed her own breast extraction. Nûrzgrat tried not to look, though he was perched behind her shoulder so she could sit up. It was hard not to, especially when the wailing suddenly halted. Flicking his eyes down, he saw that the little Orcling knew exactly what to do with a breast when one was offered.

It was completely amazing. After all that pain and blood, he couldn't believe how quickly she seemed to recover. She'd gathered up the front of her skirts to cover the whelp in her arms while she nursed, oblivious to the mess and gore, not caring about anything but her baby. Sandy had been the same after Ashmau, but Nûrzgrat attributed that to the woman's tougher frame and endurance.

"Do I... do I cut the cord?" he asked.

"Not just yet," she replied. "Let it go a bit longer."

"You're tougher than I thought," he rumbled quietly.

"I couldn't have done it without you," she said, leaning her head wearily against his shoulder.

He tore his eyes away from the contented child in her arms, then squeezed them shut. He had trouble swallowing for a moment. "Now I know I gotta leave."

"No," she begged, "no, Nûrzgrat, please."

"I can't... watch another one, Brianna," he said brokenly. "I can't watch any of you. I'm... empty. Like a great big hole... It ain't gonna get filled... ever." He wanted to go somewhere else right now, fight off this weakness that assailed him more often these days, but he was so raw from what happened here... It was hard to hold it back. A tear slid down his cheek.

"What would you gain from leaving?" she asked.

"I don't know... I just... I could forget," he muttered. "Be easier without reminders every fuckin' day... that I got nothin'... and nobody. It's time I got away from those who do. Stayin' just makes it hurt more. Every fuckin' day."

Brianna sighed. "We've been selfish, haven't we? Holding you back."

"Aye," he nodded.

"I've worried about you, Nûrzgrat," she said. "I don't want you to hurt yourself... but I don't want you to go... some place where you might get killed because of what you are. With us you're safe."

"Maybe," he shrugged. "But every day I wake up and I see you... every night, I hear you... The walls ain't all that thick." He swallowed another hard lump. "I can hear... Morkoth and Sandy. I can hear you and Ghru. It ain't... it ain't the mating. I hear you talkin'. Laughin', sometimes. I don't know what you say, but I can hear... I want that too, Brianna." Feeling another wave cresting, he clamped his jaw shut tightly.

"I'm so sorry, Nûrzgrat," Brie sobbed. "I wish I could do something. I wish... so badly I could do something."

"It ain't your duty," he said tightly.

"I _promised_ you," she said.

"Some promises are too much," he replied quietly. "Weren't worth makin' cause they can't be kept."

"I'm sorry," Brie whispered, blinking the tears from her eyes.

"Don't matter," he said, taking a shaky breath. He forced a smile. "You got a little girl there. Heh... look at them eyes."

The whelp at Brie's breast had apparently decided mealtime was over and gazed up at them curiously. Unlike most Uruk-hai, her eyes were closer to brown than yellow.

"Give her a name, Nûrzgrat," Brie said quietly, looking into the depths of those eyes.

"That's... that's Ghru's job, not mine," he protested weakly.

"I want you to name her," she insisted. "You gave Ghru to me. I want you to name her."

He'd been the one to give most of the Uruk-hai in their group their names, including Ghru. Morkoth, his second and most trusted friend, had also asked this of him, and was pleased with the name Ashmau, 'first warrior.' Though Ghru was closer to his age, Nûrzgrat didn't want to assume the father of _this_ whelp would want another to name her. But Brie was asking, and he never could say no to her.

Smiling a little, he said, "Hontor."

"Hunter?"

"Nah, _Hontor_," he repeated. "In the Man's tongue it means 'beautiful eye.'"

"That's perfect, then," Brie replied contentedly, stroking the little head. "Thank you."

Taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly, he said, "Best get you back, eh?"

"In a minute," she whispered, suddenly embarrassed. "There's... I need to pass the placenta. If you could help me with that..."

"Yeah," he nodded. "Uh... birthin' ain't done?"

"Not quite," she chuckled. "There's one more gross thing."

Grunting with amusement, he said, "I'll help you. Then I'll take you back."

"Thank you, Nûrzgrat."


	3. The Caged Bird Flies

**The Caged Bird Flies**

When Nûrzgrat carried Brie and Hontor into the settlement, there was a rush of bodies as everyone in sight converged on them in a flurry of excitement. Ghru heedlessly muscled his way to the front, then visibly dialed back his instinctive aggression as he looked down at his child.

"So... small," he breathed with wonder, drawing the back of a clawed finger down the little brown cheek.

"Yeah, but Brie ain't," Nûrzgrat huffed. "Take her, or let me get her to her bed."

Startled, the tall Uruk relieved his leader of his mate and carried her to their shelter himself. Sandy, Ashmau clamped at her hip, followed.

"Where's Morkoth? Ain't back yet?" Nûrzgrat asked Thakûf.

The young Uruk shrugged. "No."

Sandy poked her head out the door and called, "Nûrzgrat, come in here." Her expression and tone brooked no argument.

Joining them in the cabin with Thak at his heels, the leader said, "She all right?"

"Has she been bleeding like this the whole time?" Sandy asked quietly as she handed her son off to Thak.

Nûrzgrat swallowed. "Yeah, a bit. What's... what's wrong with her?" But one quick look reminded him of what he'd been glancing at all the way back from where she'd birthed Hontor and trying not to acknowledge. The woman was pale as snow, could barely keep her eyes open.

Ghru sat on the edge of the bed, his whelp in his arms. He was torn between cradling his mate or his child, unsure which one needed him the most at the moment.

"Thak, go fetch some water, please," Sandy said quietly, taking her son back. Catching her worried tone, the boy ran out of the cabin.

"What the fuck is wrong?" Nûrzgrat snarled.

Taking a deep breath, Sandy whispered, "She's lost a lot of blood. More than she should."

"I did the best I could...," he insisted brokenly, his eyes flicking from Sandy's face to the silent form on the bed to Ghru's rigidly hunched back as he hovered over her.

"It's not your...," she began, glancing back and halting. Taking the leader by the elbow, she led him outside where Ghru wouldn't hear. "It's not your fault," she said quietly as Ashmau grabbed and played with tendrils of her fiery red hair. "We knew this was going to be rough. I guess I just hoped there'd be Elves here when it happened."

"We don't need the fuckin' _golug-hai_ in our business," Nûrzgrat growled through clenched teeth.

"I know you don't like them," she snapped angrily, "but this is Brie's _life_ we're talking about."

Thakûf stumbled clumsily across the clearing, a bucket sloshing half its contents on the ground by the time he made it to the cabin. Sandy gave the leader a slightly apologetic look, then went back in. Shaking his head, Nûrzgrat slumped back inside as well.

Still standing near the back of Ghru and Brie's cabin, Frû shifted the hammer in his hands, thinking. There would likely never be a better opportunity, he mused. While a slight worry over Brie's condition creased his brow, and he wished for a moment that he'd gotten a better look at the whelp before everyone disappeared into the cabin, he steeled himself. For the first time in two years, their backs were turned. Morkoth usually hunted until nightfall, still a few hours off. The runt and his playmate were off south of the encampment, by the distant sounds of their play. Maybe they wouldn't even notice he was missing until mealtime.

Dropping the hammer, he walked slowly across the settlement, passing the longhouse, their first dwelling that now housed Frû and Nûrzgrat. Across from the central firepit were two more shelters; one for Morkoth and Sandy, the other for the three younglings. As he reached the forest's edge, he glanced back at Ghru and Brie's shelter. Satisfied that none were coming out anytime soon, he turned and bolted into the trees.

* * *

Morkoth sat by the fire, skinning one of the two deer he'd brought in. Thakûf, Razkaar and Ilsa sat nearby, watching him work with rapt fascination. Sandy had asked him to 'entertain' the children and keep them out from underfoot, but since he'd just gotten back from hunting, about all the entertainment he could provide was a lesson in anatomy. Still, they were all Uruk-hai; blood and bone didn't bother any of them.

Ilsa was particularly enthralled with the animals' pelts, and was stroking the doe's tail gently with her little clawed hand. Looking up at Morkoth with her big yellow eyes that managed to unman every adult male in the clan, she asked, "Can I have?"

Grunting with amusement, Morkoth deftly cut off the tail and handed it to her. "Better let it drain. And do not tell Sandy I gave it to you."

She grinned, hugging her oozing prize to her chest. "Secret."

"I want the horns," Thakûf chimed in, seeing apparent generosity in the older Uruk.

"Antlers," Morkoth corrected, then took a bone saw to them. The _golug-hai_ had given them many things, including much finer tools. Sandy had joked that they were having a house-cleaning, since so many of them were leaving after the War. Clearing out the attics. She mentioned something about the lack of classified ads making yard sales an impossibility, but he chose to ignore that nonsensical part.

He didn't share his leader's disdain for the Eldar, but then he was far younger. His battles had always been against Men, never Elves. Morkoth's only exposure to Elves came after the War, when nothing but respect and kindness was shown to the clan in the mountains. He had no grudge against them.

Nor did he bear a grudge against Men. Their ways had always been a source of interest, bordering on wistful emulation. In retrospect, had he not followed his interpretation of 'Men's ways' so well when Sandy and Brie came to them, things would have turned out entirely differently.

"What about me?" Razkaar whimpered as Morkoth handed the antlers of the young buck over to Thak.

"What would please you, Raz?" the elder Uruk asked indulgently.

"They got any smallish bones?" the runt asked hopefully.

"For carving?"

"Yeah, carving."

Morkoth smiled. The boys had learned Knucklebones from Frû and wanted their own, since the sullen Uruk wouldn't play nor share.

Then the big Uruk frowned. He'd been hunched over the kills since well past nightfall, what with the constant interruptions of questions and exclamations, his weary answers and now a round of trophy extractions. Sandy, Nûrzgrat and Ghru were huddled around Brie in the shelter, trying to get the slow trickle of blood to halt, replenishing the poor woman's fluids, and caring for Hontor. The leader seemed mostly there as a nanny, keeping Ashmau occupied but unwilling to leave, while Sandy was obliged to share her milk with Hontor since Brie was too weak to feed the child.

He had no idea where Frûmâdûrz was.

"Do not touch anything," Morkoth warned as he rose, pitching his blunt nose in the air and turning. There was only the faintest scent of the Uruk; he'd probably been gone for hours. "Fuck."

Striding purposefully to the cabin, he wrenched open the door and stomped inside.

"Frû's gone," he announced grimly to the assembled group. Nûrzgrat, now holding Hontor while Sandy nursed Ashmau, became swiftly enraged.

"That... son of a _whore_!" he bellowed, disturbing the whelp into a crying fit. Trembling with rage, he handed the child off to Ghru and marched back out, Morkoth on his heels. Sandy and Brie exchanged a nervous look.

"Holy crap," Sandy breathed.

Gently rocking and purring to calm Hontor down, Ghru glanced at Sandy. "Thought you were talking to him," he growled briefly.

"I _was_," she said defensively. "He's been... shit. He hasn't _wanted_ to talk much lately. Not the last few months. I haven't gotten much out of him at all. I thought... I guess I thought he was getting over her."

The big Uruk shook his head, beginning to pace around the room as his child wailed inconsolably. "Been thinking about it," he said quietly, bouncing the child lightly in his strong arms. He'd taken shifts with Morkoth when Ashmau was smaller, and had become the most successful baby soother of all the males. Hontor wouldn't be able to withstand his attentions for much longer. It helped that when the Uruk-hai spoke softly, which wasn't often, their chests vibrated comfortingly. "Knew a _snaga_ in Isengard. Young one. Sometimes went off by himself to weep. I asked him once. Thought maybe... he was being... hurt. But he only missed his mate. They'd just bonded, you see."

As he spoke, Hontor's crying whittled down to whimpering.

"You mean... like married?" Sandy asked. Ghru was about to answer when Brie quietly replied.

"No, I think he means _pair_ bonded," Brie said weakly. "Some... species do that."

"What's that mean?" Sandy asked.

"I don't know all about it," Brie sighed. "Sometimes it's a lifelong monogamous bond, sometimes just short-term."

"So... what's this got to do with Frû?"

Ghru planted his feet at shoulder width and began to sway side to side slowly, a slight smile on his face as he gazed down into Hontor's eyes. They were so like Brie's in color...

"He told me about it, 'cause I did not know what it meant," Ghru continued. "Orcs sometimes bond with a mate for life. Sometimes not. They live a long time, and some do not want to be so constrained. But others... like this _snaga_..." He glanced at Brie, his expression gentle though worried. "They find one who completes them, and they do not want another."

"Are you thinking that... Frû somehow... bonded to Hengolwen? When he saw her?" Sandy asked carefully.

The Uruk nodded. "That is what I think. And now he goes to find her." His brow furrowed. "She is not safe."

"God, I hope her trail's cold," Sandy muttered, staring off into space, imagining what that crazy bastard might do. She shuddered, nearly dislodging Ashmau from his dinner.

"It plagues Nûrzgrat as well," Ghru said. Both women looked up at him with surprise. "Not Hengolwen, but the need to bond with a mate. I think... he sees us, and he wants more than a simple bonding. He wants this... pair bond? What we have. It is a strong urge."

Brie nodded, remembering her conversation with the morose leader. Her chin trembled. "He wants to leave the settlement. I don't think... anything we say will make him change his mind."

Nodding, Ghru said, "I expected this. He has felt the need for some time."

"He can't go," Sandy said, pressing her lips together firmly. "He just can't. It isn't sa-..."

The door burst open again, and Nûrzgrat blew back in. "The fucker's trail is damn near cold. I'm goin' after his worthless ass."

"Nûrzgrat?" Brie called weakly, and the Uruk leader crossed the room to kneel by her bedside. She reached for him and he took her hand. "Please come back. Find him, and bring him back here."

The leader took a shuddering breath. "If he don't give me no choice... I may have to..."

"Don't even think about that," Sandy interjected. "Just concentrate on bringing him back."

"_Both_ of you come back, please?" Brie begged, tears forming in her eyes. "Promise me you'll come back."

Nûrzgrat huffed. "All right. I promise. But... I ain't promisin' I'll stay."

Brie nodded. "Just give us that. Just come back."

"All right." Squeezing her hand once, he rose and turned. Ghru looked down at his leader.

"Didn't thank you," the big Uruk said, nodding his chin down at his sleeping child. "Wish I had been there. But I am... glad _you_ were."

Thumping the fire-scarred Uruk's shoulder, Nûrzgrat grunted acknowledgement, took one last look at the peaceful little face, then left.

Morkoth met him at the fire, a pack and one of the Elven swords they'd been given in his hands. Nûrzgrat growled.

"I ain't huntin' one of my own with a fuckin' _golug_ sword. Where're our broadswords?"

"This is made better," Morkoth insisted. "You might have... trouble."

Nûrzgrat shouldered the lightweight pack, pleased that his second had favored speed in selecting supplies. "I ain't killed a whiteskin in ten years. Ain't startin' now."

"They might not give you a choice," Morkoth pointed out, then added in an undertone, "Frû may not either."

Nodding grimly, and curling his lip with distaste, Nûrzgrat fastened the ridiculously ornate Elven belt about his waist.

"Fuckin' embarrassin'," he growled. Unsheathing the sword, he tested its weight and gave it a few swings before replacing it in the scabbard. "Passable," he admitted grudgingly. "Take care of them younglings, now. I'll drag that son of a whore back by the hair, with or without his body."

Morkoth suppressed a smile. He knew better. Nûrzgrat might be rough on the younger Uruk, but only because he didn't want Frû to turn out like Nûlkol had. His end would likely be the same if he did.

Nûrzgrat's nose led him first to the river that ran not thirty yards from their settlement. The little bastard's scent was strongest here, as though he had gone in this direction recently. It was long past too dark to see. The leader didn't particularly like roaming the woods at night, but time was pressing, and Frû had a hell of a head start.

Once at the river, however, he ran into his first obstacle. The scent ended at the water's edge. Growling under his breath, Nûrzgrat turned west, following the river slowly. _Bastard went into the water_, he thought angrily. Still, the Uruk had full confidence in his sense of smell; he'd pick up Frû's trail again.

Nûrzgrat trotted at an easy pace, conserving his energy, constantly scenting the air. The Glanduin, as the Elves called it, ran nearly straight west, and would eventually leave the cover of the forest at the foothills of the Misty Mountains. Cursing to himself, Nûrzgrat didn't even try to go silently. There was next to no chance he'd catch up to that slippery son of a bitch _this_ quickly.

What he wouldn't give for a crack at that boy. He'd _promised_ the Rohirrim villagers he'd keep the fucker on a short leash. He only had his word, and he'd given that. He wasn't about to let that bastard turn his one offering, the only thing he had in the world to give, into worthless shit. Nor would he let any harm come to Hengolwen. She'd suffered enough by Uruk hands.

Sudden worry over what Frû would do if he caught up to her quickened the leader's pace.


	4. Nothing's Fair in Love or War

**Nothing's Fair in Love or War**

Nothing about the scene looked right, nor did it smell right. Nûrzgrat's brow furrowed as he scanned the road below.

It was now early morning, the sun still hidden by the mountains. He came upon the road not long ago and followed it south, the telltale whiffs of Frû's passage leading him on. But this was completely unexpected. If he found out Frû was involved in any way, he'd skin the fucker alive.

The stench of death was strong, nearly blocking out all other scents. The wagon was still intact, what horses there were apparently cut loose and gone, but its occupants weren't nearly so lucky. Three bodies lay sprawled on the ground, the coppery tang of blood filling the air. A slight stirring of memory, of being treated to the rare meal of man-flesh in Isengard, flitted through Nûrzgrat's mind, and his mouth watered reflexively. Shaking his head sharply, he growled at himself. Those days were long gone.

Certain that no one was about, the Uruk slipped out of the cover of the trees and approached warily, his sword out. He wished he had one of those enchanted swords the halfling and the wizard had, except one that glowed when Men were about. That would be useful.

The corpses were still warm, the chill air steaming over them. Nûrzgrat tensed, then he heard it. Pricking his ears, he whirled back eastward, where he'd come from, and listened hard. There it was again; a keening wail. A woman, if he judged right. Grimacing, he took off at a run back into the trees.

A recently made trail cut through the underbrush some fifty feet further down the road from where he emerged. Though he moved fast, he still noted the blood spatters here and there. Survivors, he guessed, and perhaps a running fight.

He nearly fell over a fourth body in his path. Sparing the whiteskin's glassy stare only a moment's glance, he kept on. He could hear the sound of swords clashing now.

"For Eru's sake, let her go!"

Nûrzgrat skidded to a halt and crouched down. Steadying his breathing, he slowly approached the clearing ahead where the chase had evidently ended.

"Let her go, please," a steady voice said more calmly. Nûrzgrat peered through the bushes.

Four rough-looking men were ranged about the clearing with their weapons drawn. Three others – a man dressed similarly to the dead men already slain, another in workman's garb, and a woman in a plain dress – were huddled just beyond the horseshoe pocket the bandits formed. Within, however, a younger girl was held by one of the ruffians, pinning her arms behind so her back bowed and chest thrust forward at a painfully awkward angle. The man also held a knife to her throat. She was shaking so much, Nûrzgrat wondered that the blade hadn't nicked her flesh.

The swordsman had an arm extended, clearly holding the workman back from advancing. Judging by his age, the Uruk guessed the girl was his daughter.

"I don't think I will," the one holding the girl said mockingly, and his fellows laughed easily, relaxed. The man and woman had no weapons, and seemed entirely reliant on the lone swordsman to protect them.

_Ain't gonna be enough_, Nûrzgrat thought grimly, and began calculating his next move.

"Of course not," another man snarled maliciously. "Give up such a treasure? Hardly." Grinning, he turned to the girl and cut the front of her bodice open from neck to waist. Her wailing increased, and those the Uruk took to be her parents surged forward. The other bandits closed in and held them at bay.

"Take your filthy hands off her!" the tradesman growled.

"Daddy...," the girl whimpered, closing her eyes tightly.

Chuckling, the man who cut her dress open slipped a hand in to fondle a breast, making her squeal. "Nice. And plenty to go 'round, boys. I reckon her mam's got a few charms left in her as well. Kill the men."

Plan or no plan, Nûrzgrat had to act. Standing up, he strode into the clearing.

He didn't have to say a word. His kind weren't common in this area; not even the _snaga_ came down from the mountains enough to call attention to themselves these days. Every head turned at his entrance, and all eyes widened in disbelief and horror.

_Careful_, he told himself. _Remember the knife._

"Smelled man-flesh," he growled, then eyed the terrified girl. "And cunt."

Laughing nervously, the apparent leader slid his hand out of the girl's bodice. "Well, well, well. We don't see your kind hereabouts much. Bit far from home, ain't you?"

"Home is where I say it is," the Uruk snarled, then pointed at the girl. "Done with that?"

Raising an eyebrow, the man exchanged looks with his fellows. The one closest to the swordsman snickered.

"Wanna see their faces," the snickering man said, pointing at the stricken family. "See'em watchin' their girl gettin' what for from an Orc."

"You... wouldn't... no...," the father stammered. He cast a pleading look from one man to another.

They outnumbered Nûrzgrat handily. He was counting on surprise and the skills of that other swordsman to tip the scales, but it would still be tight. The fact that the man was glaring at him with pure hatred didn't fill him with confidence.

The leader turned to the Uruk and motioned him closer. "If you think you can... keep from killing her... I mean, we'd all like a bit..."

Nûrzgrat snorted as he brushed roughly past one of the other men and stood directly in front of the girl. She cracked her eyes open and looked into his face, then bit down on her lip hard enough to draw blood and sobbed in horror.

_Don't matter_, he told himself. But it still stung after so long with women who didn't look at him like that.

"Have a handful," the leader offered, flipping her shredded bodice open and exposing a small breast.

The knife was still at her throat. He'd have to keep playing along until that changed. Steeling himself, he roughly grabbed the girl's breast. She shuddered and squealed, trying to get away from him.

"Good," he growled. He tried not to get any pleasure out of it, but in truth he hadn't touched the bare flesh of a woman in ten years. There might never be another chance.

"Nice, uh, sword," the leader said nervously. "You can put that away now. We're all friends here."

Nûrzgrat removed his hand from the girl's body and slowly began sheathing his sword, one eye on the man holding the knife. The leader nodded to him, and the knife was taken away. That was all he needed.

In one fluid motion, Nûrzgrat whipped his sword free of the scabbard and swung it over the girl, lopping off her tall captor's head. Blood sprayed everywhere, and the girl shrieked as she dove to the ground. Then Nûrzgrat whirled toward the stunned leader, who barely recovered from his shock enough to backpedal and draw his own weapon.

"Fucking Orc _bastard_!" the leader cried, blocking Nûrzgrat's furious attack and reaching in to slice through the Uruk's thin shirt to his ribs beneath. The remaining two bandits split their attentions between the Uruk and the swordsman, who took advantage of the confusion to shove his charges back and engage the nearest ruffian.

Nûrzgrat caught out of the corner of his eye a bandit trying to circle behind him and make another grab for the girl, but he wasn't having any of that. Kicking the leader in the kneecap, he rounded on the other and severed his arm at the elbow with the keen Elven blade. Returning to the staggered leader, he thrust his sword into the man's chest twice, then kicked him once more in the groin. Then he turned and swiped with finality at the armless bandit's neck, finishing him. Throwing his head back, Nûrzgrat bellowed in triumph.

Though not prone to berserker rages, the Uruk still had to take deep breaths to calm himself after the brief fight was over. He took in the aftermath as he did so, making sure all were well.

The girl was still on the ground where she fell, now held in her mother's arms as she wept hysterically. Her father held them both tightly. The swordsman stared at Nûrzgrat, blood dripping off her sword.

Nûrzgrat's nostrils flared and his face twitched. He drew in a deep breath, scenting the air. Was he mistaken? Shaking his head, he tried to ignore it. It couldn't be. Turning away, he tried to gather himself as he wiped his blade on the nearest bandit's shirt and sheathed it.

"What is your game, Orc?" the swordsman asked coldly.

"Ain't playin' no games," he replied, turning back around and forcing himself to face... her. Fuck. His nose never lied. That was a female, dressed like a male. Glancing at the family huddled in a group, he realized they probably didn't know. Swallowing hard, he decided to keep his mouth shut for now. "Seemed the best plan for gettin' the knife off her."

"Where did you get an Elven blade?" she asked suspiciously.

"From an _Elf_," he snapped, immediately on the defensive. Female she may be, but he'd just saved her ass. _All_ their asses. Then he noticed her arm was bleeding. "Looks like he got you," he smirked.

"You as well," she retorted, nodding toward him. Frowning, Nûrzgrat looked down, and saw his shirt soaked with black blood.

"_Fuck_ me!" he roared, tearing the shirt open wider to see the damage. He did _not_ need this shit.

"I can see to that," the mother said to the swordswoman, stepping up and having a look. Nûrzgrat stiffened.

"You a healer?" he asked, approaching slowly so he wouldn't appear as threatening.

The girl's mother eyed him anxiously, looking him up and down. "Was it... your intention... to aid us?"

"Aye," he nodded. "We don't follow the Shadow no more. Free of it. Can't speak for all Orcs, but me and my boys... Look, do you know 'bout... female... things?" he asked awkwardly.

She raised her eyebrows. "I am a midwife. Is that what you mean?"

"Uh... yeah, I think. That about... whelpin' and such?"

"I believe so."

"Here now, what are you on about?" the father growled sternly, interposing himself between his wife and the Uruk. Nûrzgrat rolled his eyes.

"Got a sick female in our settlement," he snarled. "Just dropped a whelp, and she won't stop bleedin'. Is there...," he began, and faltered, looking away for a moment. "Is there anything you can do for her?"

The father held his daughter close, the girl still sobbing brokenly. He regarded the Uruk carefully. "Is this an Orc settlement you speak of?"

"No," the swordswoman growled. "Uruk-hai."

There had never been a time that Nurzgrat was ashamed of the name of his people, but the way she said it, full of venom and hate, made him think twice. "Aye," he snapped. "We're Uruk-hai. But the females ain't. They're whiteskins, like you lot. The one that's sick was too small for the whelp she was carryin', and she's bad off now. You gonna help or not?"

"You forced some poor...," the man flared.

"No!" Nûrzgrat roared angrily, getting in the man's face so quickly he took a terrified step back and shoved his trembling daughter behind him. "We don't do that fuckin' shit no more!" Forcing himself to retreat, he panted for a moment with the effort to reel in the fury, yet he quivered with indignant rage. "I'm _beggin'_ you," he hissed. "She's... a friend. If you don't _fucking_ help her, she's gonna _die._ _Please_."

The woman stared at him for a long moment, searching his fierce yellow eyes for deception. Her gaze flicked to her daughter, roughly handled perhaps but otherwise whole. Had this Orc not arrived, they would have a worse tale to tell... or none at all.

Taking a deep breath, she nodded. "Yes. I will help her."

"What?" her husband barked incredulously.

"It is the _least_ I can do," she snapped. "We would not be speaking now if he had not come. Even _you_ must see that, Faelur."

The man blinked in surprise. His wife had never spoken so sharply to him. He wasn't particularly pleased by that. Before he could say anything about stilling her tongue, she'd turned away.

Facing Nûrzgrat, his wife said, "I am Maeglethril, but Mae is sufficient. My husband Faelur, our daughter Gwennithil. And this is Bronhador."

The Uruk nodded to each as she introduced them, but now that he was closer to Bronhador, he found it difficult to meet her eyes, but when he did...

_Fuck no_, he realized with horror. _It's **her**. Why the fuck did she come **now**?_

It happened just that quickly, like a punch to the gut he wasn't prepared to receive. Full of hate and disgust they may be, but those eyes would haunt and torment him as ruthlessly as Hengolwen's did Frû. He was caught, and there was no way he'd ever escape. Like no other female he'd ever met, she had _it_. That... thing. Whatever the fuck it was. The spark that ignited him like a wildfire.

Shaking off the terrible realization, he stammered, "Name's Nûrzgrat. Settlement's this way." Then he stomped off in a northeasterly direction.

As they made their way through the woods, Nûrzgrat found Bronhador keeping pace with him, often glancing at him with hostility.

"I do not trust you, Orc."

"Don't expect you to," he growled, avoiding her eyes. Perhaps if he didn't look at her again, that relentless, merciless pull would go away. These folk must have business elsewhere. They'd be about it as soon as Mae had a look at Brie, and Nûrzgrat could get on with chasing down that bastard, Frû.

Except now he fully understood the pain the other Uruk felt. It was the cruelest joke anyone had ever played on him, and he couldn't seem to muster a sense of humor about it.

"I am not so easily fooled," she warned. "When you show your _true_ nature, I shall be ready." She patted the hilt of her sword.

"I ain't so much a fool, either," he retorted. "Know a _female_ when I smell one." He grinned triumphantly at her sharp intake of breath.

Recovering herself, she snarled in an undertone, "I'll wager you enjoyed yourself back there. Helpless woman at your mercy... Brought back some good memories, did it not?"

Had he not taken a guilty pleasure from groping the poor girl, even for such a brief moment, he might have shot back a scathing reply. But his weakness was humiliating, and Bronhador's accusation deserved.

When he didn't respond with more than a deeper scowl, Bron smirked. "As I thought. I shall be on my guard, Orc."

"See that you are," he muttered. Then he glared at her. "You wave that blade around in my camp, point it at anyone, and I'll answer it," he warned.

"I will not walk into an Orc camp unarmed," she snapped, brown eyes flashing.

"Hmph. So younglings don't matter, eh?" he snarled. "You'll cut'em down just like the rest. Fuckin' whiteskin."

"And you would be merciful to 'whiteskin' children?" she bit back.

He winced and couldn't respond. The things he'd done under his Master's direction were shameful and, as Morkoth would describe it, dishonorable. "Didn't used to be," he grudgingly confessed. "Things're different now."

"Are they?" she scoffed.

"Maybe you didn't notice," he growled through clenched teeth, "so I'll remind you. Those men were gonna fuckin' _kill_ you, unless they figured out what you are before cuttin' your throat. Then you'd wish they had."

"So sure of that?" she countered. "Did it not occur to you I might have things well in hand?"

Rolling his eyes, Nûrzgrat laughed. "'Well in hand'? Had a cunning plan all laid out, did you? Wish I'd had the patience to wait. Probably be a good show. Didn't look to me like you lot had more'n a minute left before gettin' cut down. Have to check my eyes, I suppose."

Fuming at his mockery, Bron bit back an angry retort. In truth, she'd been at her wit's end. When the attack came, back on the road, they'd fought fiercely, but the men took them by surprise, and they were severely hampered by the unarmed family requiring too much of their attention to defend. Berendir charged into the assailants like the glory-seeking idiot she always thought he was, but was swiftly cut down, followed by Nibendu. Bron and Dag herded the terrified family into the forest while Maevodh held them off for a moment, but not long enough. Then Dag tried to buy her more time to get them to safety. The ruffians were just too accomplished as swordsmen, or fought with far less honor. Regardless, Bron wasn't able to keep the family moving fast enough to outrun them, and they found themselves surrounded. She had to admit that, for all her years of training and preparing, there was almost nothing she could do to prevent what happened.

Then this Orc stomped into the clearing, and any thoughts she had of somehow fulfilling her duty and keeping the family safe were blown away like dust on the wind. But then the tables turned yet again, and now she wasn't so certain.

Bron was just as fooled by the Orc's ruse as the ruffians were, and faltered for a moment even after the first one was slain. She'd thought he only assessed which of the two groups seemed the most likely to win the stand-off and thrown his lot in appropriately. 'Sampling' the spoils had been foul to watch, but had the apparent affect of lulling the bandits into believing the Orc would take their side.

While she grudgingly admitted to herself that the Orc's tactics were effective, she wouldn't give him the satisfaction of knowing that. Nor would she confess her gratitude that _somebody_ came to help, regardless who it turned out to be.

The frustration and futility of the whole situation, her failure to protect the family as she had sworn to do, nearly took a horrible toll on her, for if she had succumbed to womanish tears as she often did when all hope left her, they would have known what she was.

Glancing once again at the Orc's fierce profile, she frowned and wondered how in the name of Eru something as Mannish as 'honor' could have found its way into an Orc? Snorting, she dismissed that brief thought as fantasy. He was leading them into an Orc camp, where they would no doubt be captured, assaulted, slain, and eaten. Her mind began ticking away, trying to come up with some sort of plan.

Behind them, the family kept a nervous silence but for Gwen's whimpering. She stumbled beside her mother, firmly attached with both arms about the woman's waist and Mae's arm about her shoulders. The terror of those moments hadn't left her yet, and she still trembled violently. Worse than the ruffian's hand upon her was that of the Orc, rough-skinned and clawed. And to be told he was Uruk-hai, when Berendir had told her such horrible things about them...

Shuddering, she squeezed tighter, hoping that she would be protected from whatever they were marching toward. She'd been so consumed by shock and fear, she missed the entire conversation. At the moment, she rather preferred ignorance.

Mae kept a wary eye on the Orc, wondering what he spoke about with Bronhador. Nothing friendly, by the scowls and hissing words they exchanged. Perhaps the man had not been schooled against poking a wild beast with a stick, she mused. The midwife was practical enough to realize their lives hung in the balance, and had the Orc not come along... It did not bear thinking about.

Recalling the expression on the Orc's harsh face, however, firmed her resolve. When he begged her aid, she could actually see layers of pride peeling away. She had no doubt the Orc would have gone down on his knees next if she hadn't agreed to his request. It was something she never in her life would have believed had she not seen it for herself: an Orc pleading for the life of another. And not even another Orc, at that.

There was something different about him, and she wondered how his fellows in the camp would behave. He struck Mae as a leader, some sort of authority figure, judging by his bearing and manner. Perhaps the others followed his example. She rather hoped so.

Another thought struck Mae as she watched him. According to all she had been told of Orc-kind, were they not filthy animals, incapable of intelligent speech? While this Nûrzgrat fellow certainly growled and barked like a beast, even roaring once so loudly her ears hurt, he spoke relatively well, if crudely. And he certainly did not seem dirty. Quite clean, as a matter of fact. Strange. Perhaps the influence of these 'whiteskin' women...

Bringing up the rear, Faelur felt utterly helpless, and he hated it. He was always in control of every situation, either by virtue of his name or his wealth. While a part of him was concerned for his daughter, the fear that her value to the family would be erased by those ruffians, their future squandered away so easily, clenched his gut even harder.

It seemed that the coming of this Orc may have only bought them a short reprieve, for their kind was well-known for vile depravity and violent acts. Just listening to this one for longer than a moment revealed a crudeness he associated with the lowest classes. The grotesque creature actually laid _hands_ on Gwen! That was barely a step above ruination in his estimation. He hoped none would learn of it.

He'd always hired men to protect his family, trusting in the skill-at-arms of others to secure his investments. Now he felt that he had wasted an excessive amount of coin if all but one of the men he'd engaged were so easily slain.

Such thoughts were distracting only. Looking to the front, he saw the back of that beast's head and worried his lip. His wife actually counselled _gratitude_ for its 'help.' Would such gratitude include payments in flesh? He swallowed nervously.

Hired men proved worthless, daughter nearly rendered the same, wife turned snappish... and now they were marching relentlessly toward an Orc camp out of 'gratitude.' Not just any Orcs, but Uruk-hai, the most savage and evil of all known Orc breeds. And Faelur had no idea what to do about it.


	5. Not You Too

**Not You Too**

"Sorry! Sorry!" Thakûf cried, shifting from foot to foot in front of the seething Uruk. Morkoth slowly raised his eyes. He was crouched by the firepit, trying to coax a flame into life, when Thakûf lost his grip on the pot of water he was carrying over for the midday meal. The resulting splash soaked and killed the tiny spark it took the older Uruk twenty minutes to create.

Corralling his temper the best he could, Morkoth said tightly, "It is no matter. See to Ashmau. Make sure he does not get hurt." Thak nodded vigorously and shot away like a bolt from a crossbow. The youngling had managed to half crawl, half toddle too close to where his da had been scraping the deer skins earlier, and his sharp tools were still lying about. Thakûf dutifully steered him in a less dangerous direction.

Shaking his head, the Uruk leaned back over the firepit and rummaged for some dry kindling to start the process over again.

In front of the longhouse, Razkaar and Ilsa were occupied with the boy's bones, removed from the ankles of the deer. They weren't the preferred size and shape; those were best taken from sheep. But they would do for his first set. He only had to select the best four. Ilsa squatted across from him, clutching the deer tail to her chest and watching Raz's careful examination of the bones with rapt attention.

Morkoth smiled, finding their closeness amusing. Almost as if they were bound by blood.

He smelled them coming minutes before he heard their approach. Straightening with sudden alarm, Morkoth spun around and glared to the southwest. The scent on the air – blood – was strong and near, coming closer.

Orc's blood and, if he was not mistaken, Man's blood as well.

"Raz, take Ilsa into the longhouse," he growled, his eyes on the trees between his dwelling and that of the younglings. "Thak, take Ashmau in too." He didn't need to look to know his orders were hastily carried out. Though Morkoth had no weapons on him, he wasn't far from where they were kept. If needs be, he could use his intimidating size and fierceness to buy time to fetch one.

Except the scent on the air was surprisingly familiar.

Morkoth didn't relax his stance even when Nûrzgrat emerged from the forest, a whiteskin at his side. He did, however, give a start, for though the stranger's appearance was male, the scent was clearly female.

"Where is Frû?" he asked, then flinched with surprise when he received a vicious snarl from his leader.

"Don't fucking remind me," Nûrzgrat growled, leading the female toward the firepit.

Morkoth almost turned to follow when three more whiteskins showed up, halting on the edge of the clearing and staring up at Morkoth with horror. The younger of the two females looked at him with mouth-trembling terror and began to weep.

Seeing that he'd lost the family in transit, Nûrzgrat huffed and stomped back. "Come on. He ain't gonna do nothin' to you." It was almost comical how the three of them shuffled together as a single clumsy unit, trying to keep Morkoth in their line of sight while still following Nûrzgrat.

Gathering his charges in the center of the clearing, Nûrzgrat barked at Morkoth, "Go get Sandy. Might help matters."

"An explanation would also help," the huge Uruk growled, but he obediently went to the shelter his mate hadn't left since Brie was brought in.

The creak of a wooden door reached his ears, and Nûrzgrat turned to the longhouse. He could see the younglings jostling one another to get a look at the newcomers without being seen themselves. Rolling his eyes, he gestured to them. "It's all right. You can come out." Turning to Bron, he snarled, "Pull that sword, and I'll break your fucking neck."

She shot him a withering look, then turned back to the longhouse. Four Orcs emerged slowly, eying them with fearful suspicion. One was tall and gangly, like a boy on the cusp of manhood whose body was growing in all directions at once, unsure and awkward. He held in his arms an infant of perhaps a year. Trying to hide behind him was a shorter male, trembling and wide-eyed. The last was a female, perhaps three or four years old, smoother and less bestial of feature than her male companions, and certainly less nervous. When the others halted at a safe distance, the little girl kept coming.

Swallowing, Bron instinctively put her hand to her sword hilt, and started when she felt Nurzgrat's hand clamp down on her wrist with an iron grip.

"Don't... you... fucking... dare," he growled menacingly.

Glaring at him, she jerked her head at the Orc girl and snapped, "Yours, I assume?"

"No," he snarled. "May as well be. You make a move on her, you'll see how much mine I think she is."

Darting her eyes back to the girl, Bron was startled when she spoke.

"You pretty," Ilsa said, grinning toothily.

"Thak," Nûrzgrat snapped, "gimme that boy. Go get one of your shirts. A _clean_ one." The teen Uruk shoved Ashmau into Nûrzgrat's arms then took off for his shelter.

Holding the boy to his chest, Nûrzgrat spared a moment to smile at him. He hadn't had a chance to say good-bye to the little one before heading out. Ashmau settled in comfortably and began his usual examination of the necklace of various animal teeth Nûrzgrat wore. There was one for every beast he'd killed since coming to this place. All brought down for the sake of the clan. It seemed appropriate, taking such trophies, and Morkoth had picked up the habit as well. Neither understood why they felt the urge to do it; they just assumed it was something instinctive from their Orcish side.

"Is _that_ one yours, then?" Bron asked coldly.

Slowly turning his head toward the female, Nûrzgrat fought the urge to meet her eyes. Dangerous things, female eyes. "Mind your own affairs, whiteskin," he snarled.

Brie and Ghru's cabin door opened and the fiery redhead came out, her mate at her heels. She was wiping her hands on a cloth, looking weary and grim. Seeing the people assembled brought her up short. She'd expected the boys to bring home stray animals, like she'd done as a kid, but not Nûrzgrat.

"Hi," she said uncertainly, approaching them as calmly as she could. Her eyes immediately went to the whimpering girl and her tear-streaked face. She had obviously suffered a terrible shock. "Nûrzgrat, what's... uh... what's going on?"

"Got side-tracked," he grumbled. "Female back there's a midwife. She agreed to have a look at Brie."

"Oh!" Sandy replied with surprise. "Well, come with me, then. We're kind of floundering. The bleeding's almost stopped, I think, but she's still just not doing well."

Thakûf returned to the group at that moment, holding his very best shirt, given by the Elves. Nûrzgrat nodded toward the family. "Give it to the girl."

The young Uruk turned to face them and found it impossible to swallow for a moment. A _girl_. Sure, kind of an ugly one, all puffy and red, wet and sort of mussed... but a _girl_. He shakily presented the shirt to her.

She cringed away and let out a strangled squeak. Her mother held her tighter, accepting the offering. "Thank you."

Noticing the expression on the young one's face, Nûrzgrat cast his gaze heavenward and thought to himself, _Him too? You done yet? Fuckin' __**me**__ in the ass ain't enough, you gotta go after __**him**__ as well?_ Nûrzgrat emitted a low, annoyed growl, which caused Ashmau to lean over precariously so he could press his ear to the Uruk's rumbling chest. A quick hand steadied him; Nûrzgrat was used to Ashmau's sudden moves.

"Come on," Sandy urged again, reaching out to take the older woman's hand. "You can all come if you like; there's room."

Reluctantly, the family followed Sandy into the cabin. She stepped aside to let them go in ahead of her, then called back to Nûrzgrat and Bron, "I'll be back with my sewing kit. You both look a mess." Then she disappeared inside.

Glaring at Thakûf's stunned face, Nûrzgrat snarled, "Get your ass in the longhouse. I'll deal with you in a minute." The boy shot a panicked look at the leader, then virtually scampered away. The door banged shut behind him.

"You two," Nûrzgrat ordered, pointing at Razkaar and Ilsa, "go find somethin' to do."

Razkaar was more than happy to get as far away from the whiteskins as possible, and grabbed Ilsa's hand. The two of them ran into the woods like they were being chased by wolves.

"You will explain now?" Morkoth asked, crossing his burly arms over his chest and tilting his head expectantly.

Nûrzgrat grumbled under his breath and sat on a log pulled up close to the firepit. "Ask _her_. I just found'em."

Turning his piercing gaze on the female, Morkoth waited patiently. She shifted uncomfortably under such scrutiny.

"I... and my fellows... were escorting this family to Gondor," she began shakily. Clearing her throat, she continued more steadily, "Early this morning, we were beset by ruffians. At least one seemed familiar; I believe he was from the... village, for lack of a better term, in which we passed the night a day or so ago." Looking away, she took a shuddering breath. "We were outmatched."

"There is no shame in that," Morkoth remarked, his low rumbling voice nearly a purr. "I am certain all fought bravely."

Furrowing her brow, she stared at the huge Uruk. He nodded respectfully and squatted down to once more attempt lighting the fire. She slowly sank onto another log set at an angle from the first.

"Orc hunter, are you?" Nûrzgrat asked without looking at her. He had Ashmau on his knee now, the boy astride his thigh as if he rode a pony. Holding the boy's hands, the older Uruk gave him an occasional bounce, eliciting a delighted squeal.

Words died in her mouth as she watched the Uruk. What he was doing seemed so... like a Man. Her gaze flicked between Nûrzgrat and Morkoth. In truth, though there was resemblance, they did not look very much like the Orcs she'd fought in the past.

"Hmph," Nûrzgrat grumped, taking her silence for affirmation. "As I thought. Likely go into a village wavin' your sword around, spitting younglings on it without a thought..."

"And what have _you_ done?" she retorted, finding her anger once more. "Torched and burned, destroyed all in your path, murdered innocents, aye, _and_ children. How many unfortunates were slain to gain you _these_ accommodations, eh?"

Only the presence of Ashmau on his leg restrained Nûrzgrat from flying at the woman's throat. Teeth clenched and jaw grinding, he snarled, "We fucking _built_ these! Felled the trees ourselves, figured out how to put'em together, did it all _ourselves_! Nobody fuckin' died! There wasn't nobody _here_!"

"Easy, Nûrzgrat," Morkoth growled warningly. A tiny flame had flickered to life and he gently coaxed it with gentle breaths. "That is my whelp you hold."

Accustomed as he was to the leader's temper, Ashmau still stared uncertainly at Nûrzgrat's livid face, his lower lip trembling. The Uruk took a deep breath to calm himself and gave the boy a couple of bounces in apology.

Sandy emerged from the shelter with a basket. Seeing his mother, Ashmau lit up like a beacon and thrust his arms up toward her. Smiling, she set her basket down and hoisted him into her arms.

"How's my little man?" she said, affectionately rubbing noses with him.

"Erk!" Ashmau cried indignantly, slapping his chest.

"_Uruk_," Sandy corrected. "Not man, I know. So damned sensitive." Giving him a noisey kiss on the cheek, she set him down on his wobbly legs and focused on Nûrzgrat. "Don't be shy, now. Take it off."

Rolling his eyes, the Uruk growled low in his chest as he hauled off his torn, blood-soaked shirt. The cut was across his ribs, so he had to raise his arm up to get it out of Sandy's way. Sighing, he held onto his own neck and stared at the pile of wood Morkoth was trying to light.

Bron was shocked speechless. To begin with, simply by her interactions with the boy, Bron suspected Sandy was his mother. Also, while she held the child, that giant of an Orc watched them for a moment, an affectionate look on his face. So bizarrely and hauntingly similar to Men...

Turning her attention back to Nûrzgrat, she was surprised by what she saw there as well. His torso was cross-hatched with scars. She had never seen a man with such quantity. She doubted a man would have lived to boast about them, particularly the long slash from his left shoulder to his right hip. In the center of his chest, split by the diagonal scar, was what looked like a clenched fist, crudely shaped yet recognizable. His flesh was darker than any she'd seen; nearly black with a hint of ruddy brown, a color which mostly showed in the scar tissue. Looking at his face, she noticed a few scars there as well.

The shape of his face was very Man-like, which seemed to prove Berendir's claim that the Uruk-hai were bred with Men. However, unlike a Man's, his ears were sharply pointed and his nose was blunt, the nostrils curving upward. His mouth seemed ever to be snarling, with thin lips pulled back to bare his sharp teeth and tusks. His face appeared to have frozen in that expression, as every grandmother she'd ever known had threatened would happen to her whenever she made a similar face.

There was a brief moment, though, when their eyes first met, that Nûrzgrat's fierce expression seemed to wipe clean from his face, leaving something less frightening, less... hideous, behind. He had hidden that look as quickly as it appeared, and she had not seen it return.

His eyes were the most arresting. All Orcs she'd encountered were red-eyed, yet each of these Uruk-hai were yellow-eyed. The difference seemed greater than mere color; Orcs, to her, seemed cold-blooded, merciless, and vile. Yet these Uruk-hai seemed... different. Even the menacing Nûrzgrat was able to curb his Orcish nature, though only just.

"What're you lookin' at?" Nûrzgrat snarled, startling her. Bron's gaze flicked to his face.

Composing herself, she shrugged. "You have many scars."

"Course I do," he snapped. She noted he avoided direct eye contact, and she wondered at that. He seemed so confrontational otherwise. "It's what Orcs were bred for. Fightin'. Our Masters make a bunch of us and throw us at their enemies while they sit nice and comfortable in their fucking towers."

She blinked at the bitterness in his voice.

"Nûrzgrat," Sandy muttered as she carefully stitched his side. "All that's over now. Let it go."

He snorted but said nothing.

Sighing, Sandy continued sewing. The needle dipping in and out of his tough, leathery hide barely registered as more than an irritation, until she hit the spot low on his ribs that no one had ever touched.

Jerking away from her suddenly, Nûrzgrat barked a surprised warning.

"Will you hold _still_?" Sandy snapped, swatting his shoulder.

"Don't touch me there!" he retorted hotly.

"What, _here_?" she asked, brushing her fingers across his side with a mischievous grin.

His body acted of its own accord, folding sideways as he recoiled several inches from her. Sandy chuckled and smiled at Bron's bemused look.

"Found his tickle spot, apparently," Sandy observed. Returning to business and trying not to laugh, she fixed Nûrzgrat with a stern look. "There's still about three inches I need to close up. Do you think you can stay put that long?"

Growling, he complied, his face and body twitching as the torturous sensations continued. Bron couldn't help herself; it was just too Mannish to ignore. She laughed.

Smiling without taking her eyes off her work, Sandy said, "I _thought_ you were a woman."

Bron's laugh abruptly ended, and she fixed Sandy with a nervous look. "How did you know?"

"Women aren't as dumb as men," she replied distractedly. "I'm sure you figured out Uruks aren't as dumb as men, either. I'm willing to bet _he_ had you pegged as soon as he saw you. Or rather _smelled_ you."

"Smelled?" Bron said dubiously.

Sandy paused for a moment and met Nûrzgrat's amused gaze. "Yeah. You can't slip anything past an Orc nose. Believe me, I've tried." Returning to her stitching, she added, "Word of warning, they're worse than Santa Clause. They know when you're sleeping, when you're awake, and whether or not you're having naughty thoughts."

"Don't give away _all_ our secrets," Morkoth growled without heat.

Finishing up, Sandy nodded with satisfaction. "Okay, you're done. Go get another shirt."

Standing, the Uruk arched his back slightly, rotating his shoulders and shaking his head. Bron's gaze flicked down his well-muscled body quickly then away as she frowned in confusion. Grumbling to himself, Nûrzgrat strode across the clearing and disappeared in the longhouse.

Her glance did not go unnoticed. Deciding she wanted to take a few minutes to chat alone with this woman, Sandy suggested Morkoth go track down their son and play with him somewhere else. The tall Uruk nodded and departed.

"Your turn," Sandy said, shifting to sit next to the woman. Bron rolled up her torn sleeve and allowed Sandy to examine the wound. "I'm guessing 'Bron' isn't your real name."

Stiffening defensively for a moment, the woman glared at the redhead. Sandy's steady gaze held hers, and Bron looked away. "No, it is not."

"Care to share?" she asked as she gently cleaned the long cut between elbow and wrist.

Bron sighed. "My name is Brytta. I go by Bronhador... when I am among men."

Nodding, Sandy held the needle poised to begin sewing. "This'll hurt you way worse than it did him," she warned.

"I have been sewn before," Brytta replied, lifting her chin defiantly

"All right," Sandy shrugged, then began. "So... what happened? Where did you all come from?"

"I was hired... along with some men to... escort this family to Gondor," Brytta explained through clenched teeth as she bit back any sign of pain.

"Mm-hmm," Sandy nodded. Her mind flipped back through all she knew of this world and found she had little recollection of exactly where Gondor was in relation to Rohan. Except, perhaps, that it was really far away. "Seems like a long trip."

"It is," Brytta agreed. "Our journey began in Archet, near Bree-town."

"Bree? Is that the town with _The Prancing Pony_ inn?"

"Yes, the very same. The King's Men have only begun to attend to the lawlessness of such farflung countries as Bree-land. I am afraid the Chetwood has become increasingly dangerous over the years."

"All right, you lost me there," Sandy admitted. "I'm not _that_ familiar with the area. So the neighborhood was getting rough so they decided to move on up, huh?"

"I... believe so," Brytta said uncertainly, glancing at the redhead. "Faelur has family in Gondor, and wishes to join them. He believed the King's own country would be safer."

"Well, good luck with that," Sandy replied. "Seems a bit extreme, though. Hell of a long trip."

"I have noticed...," Brytta began, then paused to make sure they were alone. "It seems to me Faelur is the sort who... takes such measures for little reason."

"Bit of an alarmist, hmm?" Sandy asked wryly.

Brytta chuckled. "Yes. A bit."

"I have to say, you were very lucky Nûrzgrat found you," Sandy said. "There is literally nothing around here for _miles_. We're very isolated."

Furrowing her brow and biting her lip for a moment, Brytta hesitated, but her curiosity got the better of her. "Why do you live with Orcs?"

"Well," Sandy replied, "that's a very long story. In a nutshell, my friend Brie and I sort of... um... ran into these guys. The war was starting; there was really no place else for us to go."

Brytta couldn't meet Sandy's eyes as she asked in a low voice, "Did they... abuse you?"

"No," Sandy replied, frowning and shaking her head. "No, not at all. Morkoth, the big one who was here a minute ago, was my protector. Another really large one, Ghru, protected Brie. They kept us safe from... well, everything, including the other Uruk-hai in the group. Not that they were falling over themselves to hurt us, but there was one..." Sandy shuddered, thinking about that malevolent Nûlkol. "Anyway, they'd just gotten out of Isengard, after it was destroyed, so they were still a bit shaken up and out of sorts."

"Did they not... frighten you?" Brytta asked curiously. She'd never known women _not_ to be afraid of Orcs; in her younger days, they terrified her as well. Necessity drove her fear away, however.

"Oh, crap, we were scared to death, are you kidding me?" Sandy said with a laugh. "We'd never seen an Orc before. We had no idea _what_ they'd do. What... helped us, I guess, was their decision. Specifically Nûrzgrat's decision, since he was and will always be their leader."

"What decision was that?" Brytta said.

"He wanted to save his race. It was his highest priority," Sandy replied. "He focused all of his energy on getting them out of Rohan, away from the war, and to a place of safety."

"Forgive me, but if he was intent upon 'saving his race,' would that not make you and your friend... potential...," Brytta began, then ground to a halt, unable to complete the thought. It was too vile to imagine.

Sandy nodded. "Yes, actually it did. In the beginning, that idea was on the table. But Morkoth said no. He's always been influenced by Men, and felt it would be dishonorable for them to hurt us in any way. As I recall, he didn't have to make too strong an argument for Nûrzgrat to agree with him." Wrapping the woman's injured arm, Sandy said firmly, "No one forced us to do anything. We learned to trust them and... well, we learned to love them."

Brytta looked sharply at the redhead, and Sandy raised her eyes to meet Brytta's. "How is that even _possible_?" Brytta hissed in disbelief. "They are little more than _beasts_."

Tilting her head to the side and appraising the woman, Sandy asked, "You haven't spent any time talking to them, have you?"

"I spoke with that... Nûrzgrat on the way here," Brytta sniffed dismissively.

"What did you think?"

"He is foul-mouthed and vile-tempered," Brytta snapped

Sandy nodded thoughtfully. "Yeah, I'll give you that. You get used to it after awhile. And?"

Brytta frowned, then glanced toward the longhouse. "In truth," she said quietly, "he seems... nothing like the Orcs I have fought for years. He does not... quite... look like them, though he is clearly Orcish. And he does not seem so... He is just... different."

"He _is_ different," Sandy said. "Because of the choices he's made. If Brie were feeling better, she'd tell you all about him. They're very close. He's... god, he's worried sick about her. Full of guilt, too." Sandy shook her head, frowning.

"Why should he feel guilt?" Brytta asked. "Is the child his?"

Sandy snorted a brief laugh. "No. He has no children of his own. He feels guilty because he had to deliver her baby himself, and he thinks this is his fault."

"You jest," Brytta scoffed. Sandy shook her head.

"I'm serious. He'd gone with her to walk and help her go into labor. They were too far from camp to get help when her water broke, and he had no choice but to assume the catcher's position and hope he didn't drop her." Sandy snickered. "I'll bet he about crapped when he saw that baby coming out. Males think it's so much fun _making_ them, they don't consider what comes _after_."

"He... that Orc... delivered a child," Brytta said, seeking confirmation of the absurd notion.

"Yes, he did," Sandy replied proudly.

"I find that... difficult to believe."

"Because he's an Orc?" Sandy challenged. "What did you expect him to do? Leave her? _Eat_ her? He's not like that. Not at all. Maybe he used to be, but he isn't anymore." Leaning forward, she said sternly, "Look, I'm not asking you to forget everything you've ever learned about Orcs and suddenly trust him out of the blue. That would be asking way too much. Just give him a chance."

Straightening, Sandy sighed. "Well, you _might_ give him a chance, if he was going to be here. He's got a job to do. I expect he'll be taking off again soon."

"What job is that?" Brytta asked, narrowing her eyes.

"One of our group has taken off," Sandy replied worriedly. "Unfortunately, there's only one place he would want to go."

"Where is that?"

"A couple of years ago, he... well, long story short, there was a village in Rohan getting burned and raided by some Dunlendings. Nûrzgrat led us in there to fight them, and in the process we saved over a dozen women and children. One of the women... caught Frû's eye.

"It's been two years," Sandy continued, slowly shaking her head, "and he still hasn't let it go. He thinks... she'll see him the way I see Morkoth. But she _can't_. And she never will. She watched him butcher her family." Sighing, she said sadly, "I only just found out that this bond is very strong, and can't be easily broken. Even if it could be ignored, Frû's not the type to do that. He'll track her down, even after two years, I've no doubt about that."

"What will he do to her?" Brytta whispered as fear for this unknown woman took hold.

"I don't know," Sandy admitted with a shrug. "She doesn't want him. She'll _never_ want him. It's hard telling _what_ he'll do."

"Her life is in danger," Brytta stated, as if seeking confirmation. Sandy nodded. "You trust this Nûrzgrat to save her from one of his own kind?"

Sandy appraised Brytta for a moment, then said, "If it's a choice between Hengolwen's life or Frû's, I know exactly which way Nûrzgrat's going to go."

"How can you be so sure?" Brytta all but pleaded. Her entire adult life, it seemed, had been spent killing Orcs, and if she knew nothing else, she knew they were treacherous and untrustworthy. She held onto this simple truth like a lifeline, because the alternative was too terrible to imagine.

Shrugging, Sandy replied, "Because I _know_ him. I know what kind of man he is."

"He is no man," Brytta growled. "I do not trust him."

"Go with him, then," Sandy coolly suggested.

Startled, Brytta said, "What?"

"Go with him," Sandy repeated. "If you're not going to rest, worrying about what might happen to Hengolwen, go with him. Make sure she's safe." Sighing, she added, "In all honesty, he'll need you."

Brytta shook her head to clear it, then scoffed. "_He'll_ need _me_? Whatever for?"

"He's going into Rohan," Sandy said as if it were obvious. "Maybe there are a lot of people, _including_ the King, who have respect for an Uruk named Nûrzgrat, but Orc hunters aren't likely to ask his name before they kill him. He'll need you."

"To protect him."

"In a way, yes. God knows, he'd never admit it, so don't say anything to him about it, okay?"

"Very well," Brytta agreed with a sigh. "I do not relish the idea of traveling with an _Orc_."

"I'm sure he won't be thrilled with the idea, either. He's a very proud, stubborn man." Thinking for a moment, Sandy said, "Tell him you need to come with him because Hengolwen may need a woman's company. For comfort." Closing her eyes and looking away, she added in an undertone, "Especially if Frû gets there before you do."

She didn't need to say anything more. Brytta blanched at the idea of what the Uruk would likely do to the poor woman. Speed was of the essence. But she faltered with indecision.

"I am sworn to protect this family," Brytta said, her brow creasing.

Sandy shook her head and took hold of Brytta's hands. "They'll be _fine_. Trust me. The longhouse will be unoccupied for awhile; there's plenty of room for the three of them there. They'll be safe here. As a matter of fact, we get visited by Elves on their way to the Grey Havens all the time. If _they_ like us, we're doing _something_ right, don't you think?"

"You never said..."

"I didn't want to brag," Sandy shrugged and smiled.

"Then... I will accompany him, for this woman's sake."

"Good." Sandy smiled even more broadly, mentally patting herself on the back. _Am I good or what?_ she thought triumphantly.


	6. Meanwhile Back at the Ranch

**Meanwhile, Back at the Ranch...**

_What a fucking idiot_, Nûrzgrat groused to himself, leaning against the longhouse door and rubbing his face. Posturing like a whelp on the training grounds, wanting all to notice how fierce he was. Except it was a different kind of strut, something he didn't even realize he was doing until it was over, then he couldn't get in the damn longhouse fast enough.

His hands still shook, for fuck's sake!

"Nûrzgrat?"

Startled, he dropped his hands and looked up to see Thakûf seated on the dirt floor. They stared at one another for several heartbeats before Thakûf finally said hopefully, "Mates?"

The leader pushed himself off the door and stomped to his chest, flipped it open and rummaged around for a shirt. "No," he grunted.

Sighing with disappointment, the young Uruk said, "Fuck."

"Tell me about it." Yanking the shirt over his head viciously, Nûrzgrat growled, "Wanna talk to you, boy."

"I didn't do nothin'!" Thakûf immediately cried defensively.

"I _know_ you didn't fuckin' do nothin'!" the older Uruk barked. Struggling to calm himself, he slumped onto his bed and stared at the floor, resting his elbows on his knees. Unfortunately, his dark-skinned, clawed hands were right in front of his eyes, like a taunting reminder. "That girl," he said unsteadily, and cleared his throat. "That girl... ain't for you, Thak. So you best not go after her."

"But she's..."

"It don't matter," Nûrzgrat snapped, silencing the young Uruk. "She's a whiteskin. Worse, she's from here."

"But..."

"No buts. You leave her alone. Don't go near her." He glanced up and winced at the look on the boy's face. Hating himself even more, he forced himself to go on. "That's her da and her ma that's with her. They ain't gonna think it's funny if you go sniffin' around her. So you best not."

Thakûf bowed his head to hide the tears forming in his eyes. "What if... she gets to likin' me?" he asked in a small, broken voice.

Swallowing hard, Nûrzgrat shifted on the straw mattress. Then he sighed and nodded. "She oughta like you. Don't see why she wouldn't." _If she was one of us_, he thought, but didn't have the heart to tell him that.

Encouraged, Thakûf looked up and smiled, though a stray tear slid down his cheek. "Maybe... we could be friends?"

"Yeah. Friends," Nûrzgrat replied without conviction. "Just... don't ask for nothin' more."

The smile faded from Thakûf's face as he realized how little confidence the Uruk had, and he looked away again. "I won't."

Nûrzgrat wished he was anywhere else but here, destroying the boy's hope with both hands. When no females were around, they could _have_ hope. They could imagine that one day, _the one_ would appear, and everything would be wonderful. Reality was harsh and cruel, granting their wishes and pulling the ground out from under their feet with the same stroke.

"Sandy didn't want Morkoth, when she first saw him," Thakûf said hollowly, as if to convince himself. "Brie didn't want Ghru, either."

Even worse, the boy was still trying. Squeezing his eyes shut, Nûrzgrat nodded. "No. They didn't." Taking a shuddering breath, he said, "So... you keep your distance. You let her come to you... when she feels safe enough."

"All right," Thakûf agreed quietly. "You leavin'?"

"Yeah," Nûrzgrat replied gruffly. "Just wanna check on Brie. Make sure this... midwife's treatin' her right."

"You worried about her?"

"Course I am," he growled. "She's... my friend." He clamped his jaw tightly against a sudden, unexpected surge that threatened to force a distinctly unwelcome reaction. He glared hard at the ceiling as if it offended him, his eyes burning.

Thakûf watched the struggle for control on the elder's face and it suddenly dawned on him. "Nûrzgrat? Did you ever... wanna mate with Brie?"

The instinctive warning growl flared and died quickly, and Nûrzgrat met the younger Uruk's eyes levelly, though his voice was unsteady. "Boy, there's females you wanna fuck, and females you want... as a mate. I never wanted to mate with her."

Sensing that any further inquiry would be met with hostility, Thakûf nodded silently.

Standing up, Nûrzgrat went back to his chest and pulled out some more shirts and breeches. Morkoth hadn't packed enough for him, and now that he had the chance, he figured he'd amend that. Wadding up the clothing in a haphazard bundle, Nûrzgrat left the longhouse as agitated as he'd entered it.

* * *

When Sandy left the family in the shelter, Mae was momentarily stricken with shock at the hulking Orc that greeted them.

Perhaps 'greet' was a strong word.

He rose from the bed where he was hovering over the sick woman, and glared at them as if they'd committed a terrible misdeed by simply drawing breath. His burn-scarred face scowled and a rumbling growl poured from his chest. Sandy's explanation was swift, her description of Brie's symptoms and the steps she'd taken brief, then she was gone, taking a basket with her. Faelur interposed himself between her and the great beast, but in all truth, Mae had no confidence her husband of twenty summers would last five minutes in a fight with such a massive creature.

It was several moments before her shocked eyes noted the bundle in the Orc's arms, and the tiny brown fist clutching the front of his shirt.

Swallowing, she took a brave step forward around Faelur. The Orc had been told she was here to help. Surely he would recognize that.

"Her name... is Brianna, is it not?" Mae asked unsteadily. The yellow eyes of the Orc darted toward her like those of a predatory animal, and she flinched. A muscle twitched in his cheek.

"Aye," he growled briefly.

"I am a healer," she said, and moved slowly toward the bed. "I mean her no harm."

"Mae, stop," Faelur warned, keeping his eyes on the Orc.

"I need to see her," the midwife said carefully, ignoring her husband.

The Orc seemed torn; he stood like a wall between them and the sick woman. Gradually, his brow unbunched ever so slightly, and his eyes blinked rapidly for a few seconds.

"Just you," he rumbled unsteadily, fixing his eyes on Mae. She nodded and approached the bed.

"It is all right," she said quietly to Faelur as she passed him. "See to Gwen, if you please."

Faelur had never attended his wife at a sickbed; his accompaniment was usually as a result of the need for escort to some of the farther flung homes in the Chetwood. Most of the time, however, he conducted his business and she performed her duties, rarely within the same room. On those occasions when his presence _was_ needed, he preferred to spend his time conversing with the new fathers in a separate room to feel them out for potential business deals. Faelur was nonplussed by her quiet confidence even in the presence of such a horrific-looking creature. Its face and hands were so badly scarred it was positively revolting. And its _size_ was formidable, equal at least in height to the other one they encountered upon entering the settlement.

He didn't even notice the swaddled infant in the great beast's arms.

At a loss of what else to do, Faelur edged closer to his daughter, sitting on the end of the bed, and awkwardly put his hand on her shoulder. He kept a wary eye on the Orc. Gwen hugged her father's waist and trembled in fear; she hadn't taken her terrified eyes off the Orc since she entered the small one-roomed shelter, either.

Mae carefully sat on the edge of the bed and looked down at Brie's wan face. A pot of water with a cloth draped over the side stood on the floor nearby, and the woman availed herself of them. Soaking the cloth in the cold water, she gently bathed Brie's face.

Feeling gentle hands, Brie slowly opened her eyes and frowned.

"Who...?"

"Ssshhh," Mae soothed, patting the woman's forehead with the cloth. "All is well. My name is Mae. Your... Nûrzgrat found us and brought us here. I am a midwife. How do you feel?"

"Pretty... lousy," Brie replied, a slight smile on her face. "He came back? He found Frû?"

Shaking her head, Mae said, "There was no one but Nûrzgrat. He saved us, and brought us here."

"Us?"

"I, my husband, our daughter," the midwife explained, "and a man my husband hired for our protection." Taking a deep breath, Mae forced herself to remain calm and gentle of voice for this woman's sake, but her remembered fears were threatening to overwhelm her once more. Her only child was nearly taken from her; she'd watched men who had, over the last week, become as trusted as friends, slain in the road while she and her family ran for their lives. A creature whose reputation bespoke far worse torments than those men intended, had appeared out of nowhere and quite unexpectedly _helped_ them. It was difficult to maintain her composure after a day such as this.

But it was clear that this woman needed aid. While the bleeding had stopped, she was weak from its loss, and now her body thirsted for moisture as well. It was common enough after childbirth to weaken from lack of water. Brie's undoubtedly difficult labor had served to exacerbate the problem, rendering her too weak to remain awake long enough to drink. Easily remedied, but it would take time.

Brie's expression seemed almost disappointed. "Oh. You're married."

"Yes, I am," Mae nodded. "Do not trouble yourself. Rest. I will look after you. Here," she said, taking a cup from next to the pot and filling it. "You must regain your strength. Drink." Making sure the woman took the entire cupful, she smoothed her brow. "I apologize, but I must see for myself that you are mended properly. Do you have any objections?"

Brie shook her head, sinking back on the mattress and closing her eyes. Mae then turned to the Orc.

"I must examine her," she said firmly. "I trust you will allow me to do so?"

Ghru couldn't take his eyes off Brie, and slowly dropped to a crouch, resting one knee on the floor. He tilted his head to the side. "Will she...," he began, but could say nothing more as his voice broke and his eyes filled with tears.

Mae had only ever seen such an expression on a grief-stricken man. Brow creased in sympathy, she reached out and touched the Orc's arm.

"She will be fine," the midwife assured him. His wet eyes darted to her face. "I promise. Her body lacks water. Whenever she is awake, she must drink." Now that he was close, she could see the child in his arms more clearly. A slight smile curved her mouth. "Is this hers?"

Jaw grinding against the raw emotions that had been hammering him for days, Ghru glanced down, then met Mae's eyes. "Aye," he breathed. "And mine." He looked at Brie again, and let out a shuddering breath. "Didn't mean to..." Tears escaped his eyes and rolled down his cheeks.

"Some things cannot be helped," she said gently, moved by his sorrow. "You cannot help how you were made; nor can she."

Ghru bowed his head. "She knew... one of mine... would be big," he whispered brokenly. "She... knew."

"Take heart," Mae said, squeezing his hard upper arm. "I have no intention of leaving her to suffer. I have seen far worse than this and brought mother and child through. Gwen," she said over her shoulder. "Take this child so he may rest."

Stiffening, Ghru recoiled slightly. Mae shook her head and said, "No, listen to me. You have sat vigil for days, I hear. Sleep is what you need as surely as she does. My daughter has aided me at bedsides for years; your child could not be in more capable hands."

Again, the Orc appeared conflicted. Gwen could barely force her feet to close the distance between herself and the Orc, regardless that he was still kneeling on the floor and was effectively shorter than her as a result. But she knew better than to disobey her mother's commands in a sick room. Steeling herself, the girl tentatively extended her arms toward the sleeping baby.

Though wary, Ghru was also exhausted. He had, indeed, held vigil at his mate's side ever since Nûrzgrat brought her back. Though he had often gone days without sleep, those times of fear were long past. Now he only dreaded losing her while he selfishly succumbed to weariness.

"You promise?" he pressed, holding Mae's gaze intently. "You will tend her, and she will live?"

"Yes to both," Mae replied confidently.

After a long moment of searching the midwife's eyes, Ghru eventually relented and carefully shifted his daughter into Gwen's arms.

In spite of her revulsion and fear of these monsters, Gwen's one weakness was babies, and the little brown-skinned, pointed-eared child was a lovely one. She found her brow smoothing and a smile drifting across her face as she looked down at the contented child.

"What is its name?" she asked, gently rocking where she stood.

"She is called Hontor," Ghru replied.

"A girl," Gwen nodded. "She is quite... beautiful." To her surprise, she realized she meant it.

Swelling with pride, Ghru chuckled. "Got her looks from her mum."

Glancing at the Orc, she saw the slight smile and the fond look he gave the baby. She wasn't quite sure what she thought of an Orc with a sense of humor, or one so... mildly tempered.

"Well," Mae said briskly, "I'll have a look at Sandy's work now." Shooing her husband away, she set to examining the stitching the redhead informed her of.

Faelur turned his back on the womanly proceedings. This was not a place he had ever been, not even when Gwen was brought forth. It just wasn't proper. Less so when it wasn't even his own wife. Still, it was uncomfortable being ordered about by a woman. He would have to speak with her about that later.

Perhaps because it was what he was used to in these situations, Faelur glanced at the only other male in the room, and weighed the potential there for conversation, albeit crude. It had conversed in short, clipped sentences - likely the best the beastly creature could manage - and did not now seem inclined to speak more. Indeed, the tall, lanky Orc had retreated to a large chair in the corner, leaning back and rubbing his face tiredly. Behind him, Faelur could hear his wife and daughter conversing in low voices, Mae ever the instructor, teaching the girl how to bring the children of others into the world.

Faelur felt awkward in the silence that stretched, and took a deep, uncomfortable breath.

"So," he ventured cautiously, his voice pitched low. "Your... child is... lovely."

Ghru slowly lowered his hands from his face and peered up at the man. The whiteskin darted his gaze about, looking everywhere but at Ghru, not even showing the same bravery or _courtesy_ of his wife. It was also clear the man didn't mean the words he said. The Uruk curled his lip in a snarl.

"Aye," he replied.

"A couple of days old, I expect?"

"Aye."

Without any help from the Orc, the subject ground to a halt, leaving Faelur floundering for something else to say. Since his gaze kept finding its way to the walls and ceiling, he settled for that.

"This house is... well made."

"Aye," Ghru rumbled quietly.

"Did you find this place?"

Thinking that a bloody stupid question, Ghru just snorted in reply.

"Houses already built when you came?" Faelur clarified.

"No. _We_ built them."

"Truly?" the man asked, finally looking at the Orc with something akin to incredulity on his face. Ghru's scowl deepened. Embarrassed, Faelur stammered, "I meant no offense. I just... well, I did not think... that is... Where did you learn such skills?"

"There was a ruin here," Ghru growled. "Couple walls left. We looked at it and figured it out. We are not _stupid_."

"No, no, of course not," Faelur said hastily. "I only meant to say..."

"Save it, whiteskin," Ghru snarled. "I am done."

Faelur nodded, his mouth closed tightly.

Finishing her examination, Mae nodded, pleased. That Sandy did very well for not having much experience. No permanent damage was done, either. The tears would heal nicely, given time.

Returning to her task of hydrating the poor woman, she managed to coax a few more cupfuls of water into Brie. The young woman was strong-willed, and responded quickly. While it would likely be days, perhaps weeks, before Brie was back to normal, Mae at least felt confident that she would recover.

"My baby," Brie said weakly, looking around. Mae smoothed her brow with the damp cloth again.

"She is fine," the midwife replied. "My daughter has her."

"How on earth did you get her away from Ghru?" Brie asked, chuckling tremulously.

Mae smiled. "It was not easy. He is very protective of you both."

Nodding, Brie said, "He always has been." Satisfied, she looked intently at Mae. "Am I going to die?" she whispered, her expression serious.

Mae was slightly taken aback at the forthrightness of the question, but replied firmly, "Perhaps one day. But not today."

"Good," Brie said, then looked over at Ghru, engaged in what looked like a very awkward conversation. Smiling faintly, she said, "I don't think he can live without me."

The statement struck Mae as devoid of any conceit. The woman was simply stating a fact, as one would describe the sky as blue or the grass as green. Remembering the unguarded looks the Orc had given this woman, Mae decided that Brie was absolutely right.

At the foot of Brie's bed, Gwen held little Hontor in her arms and looked down into that peaceful face. She could see the mother's features here and there, in subtle ways, but mostly she saw the father and his race. How such a combination could produce anything resembling loveliness was a mystery to her.

Now that things had settled down and there was quiet, Gwen took stock. She remembered, and her memories were uncomfortable.

_I am wearing a shirt belonging to an Orc_, she thought, grimacing.

_I have had an Orc's hand on my body._ A hideous shiver ran through her.

_I am in an Orc village, and the way that young one looked at me... will they now expect **this **of me?_

She shuddered and squeezed her eyes shut, unable to look at Hontor any longer.


	7. Spare Me Meddling Females

**Spare Me Meddling Females**

Upon exiting the longhouse, Nûrzgrat didn't need to work too hard for the scowl that crossed his face. Sandy and that Bronhador female seemed a bit too companionable for anyone's good, least of all his. Hesitating a moment, he snorted and strode over to his pack. They were looking at him a little too closely, he noted as he squatted down and started shoving the extra clothes into the bag with violent motions. Finally, he could stand it no longer and spun on his heel.

"_What_?" he barked, startling Bron. Sandy just raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.

Bron squared her shoulders and held her head up defiantly. "I will accompany you on your errand," she stated firmly. Her tone left no room for argument, but Nûrzgrat never needed much space to insert one.

"The _fuck_ you will!" he roared, leaping to his feet. "You'll stay _here_."

"You intend to stop this... Frû... from reaching the woman in Rohan," she said evenly. "What if you are too late?"

Nûrzgrat inhaled to launch another retort, but stopped. He hadn't wanted to think about the possibility of failure. Maybe he'd wanted to believe Frû would be like _him_. They spent two years in the company of females, seen how Morkoth and Ghru behaved. Not all of that was instinctive; the females _taught_ them to be that gentle and restrained. To imagine Frû would throw all of that away if he had Hengolwen in hand...

If Frû was unable to respect the lessons he was taught, did that mean Nûrzgrat would have just as little regard when alone with _this_ female? She was safest here, as far away from the Uruk as possible...

"I won't be," he snarled dismissively. "I know where the little cunt has gone, and that's where I'm goin' first. _I_ know what direction they went in, he don't. That'll slow'im down."

"What if you are _wrong_?" she insisted.

Seething, Nûrzgrat tried to think of a good argument against her coming that wouldn't give away what happened to him. "You don't think I'll run my ass off to catch him up?"

"He has a head start," she said reasonably, crossing her arms over her chest. "Hours. Perhaps a day. I trust you were seeking him when you found us. How desperate is he to find her?"

Curling his lip and looking away, he growled, "Pretty fuckin' desperate."

"Then he will be on the run, and every moment wasted is another mile he gains." Taking a deep breath, she let it out slowly. "I do not think we will make it. Somehow I do not think you are equipped to comfort a woman who has been treated roughly."

Wincing, Nûrzgrat flared defensively. "You got no idea what I'm 'equipped' with!" She didn't step back as he advanced, and their chests almost touched. He glared down at her, hiding behind his shield of fury, hoping she wouldn't see... Grinding his jaw, he let his eyes flick over her face, drinking in the smooth, tanned skin... the light brown hair cropped short, gently brushing her pale round ears... the green-flecked eyes that held such contempt he should by rights wither where he stood...

_Don't think it_, he told himself. _Don't even look at it_. He bared his teeth and grunted, retreating a step. "You stay here," he growled with finality.

"I will not," she replied. "Do you think the idea of accompanying _you_ is even remotely palatable? The idea of walking at your side to the edge of this _camp _is repulsive enough, much less all the way to Rohan. I do not do this for _you_, or for this Frû that you chase. I do it for Hengolwen. She will need a woman's company, regardless of what Frû does to her. Likely _because_ of what he does."

Firming his thin lips in a grim line, Nûrzgrat shot a look at Sandy, wondering what the fuck was keeping the woman from stepping in. Sandy appeared far more busy than was strictly necessary, sorting and arranging her supplies in that basket, keeping her head down and herself out of the argument...

"Fuck... me... _Sandy_!" he roared.

Raising her head from her meaningless fiddling, Sandy sighed and fixed him with a steady gaze, immune to his fury. "Deal with it, Nûrzgrat. Just... deal with it."

She couldn't know, Nûrzgrat realized. If she did, she would be a fool to allow this, much less _suggest_ it, which the Uruk suspected was actually the case. Damn females! Brie tried the same shit with Gurvalthen back at that village! Trying to get them alone, thinking that would work. It was safer then; there was no bond, no interest past the simplest urges with regards to the healer. Nothing he could've done anyway, with all the people around... and her not willing... and him not trusting himself...

But fuck it all, Bron had a point. The Uruk would probably make a bad situation worse, if the worst happened. He didn't know what to do with weeping females. He was usually the cause of the tears and hysteria, the screaming, the running, the begging for a swift end... What the fuck could he do for Hengolwen? Not a damn thing, that was certain. But could he pay the price?

_If she would have been satisfied with **his** blood, he would have gladly given it._

Brave thoughts he'd had then, but it was more than blood he'd be giving _this_ time.

Advancing on Sandy, he glared at her until she stood, returning his gaze with unflinching defiance. "Please, Sandy," he growled quietly, and his expression softened to something akin to desperation. "I can't... do it. Don't let her come. _Please_."

Sandy faltered, and her brow furrowed. "Nûrzgrat," she whispered so Brytta wouldn't hear, "you too? For _her_?"

Looking away, he closed his eyes. He couldn't speak, his jaw clenched so tightly his cheek twitched annoyingly. All he could do was give a brief, sharp nod.

Sandy touched his arm. "You're not Frû," she reassured him. "I _know_ she'll be safe with you."

"You know more'n I do," he snarled. "Didn't know it fuckin' _hurt_ so much. Worse than before."

"Just do what you set out to do," she said firmly. "Go find him. If you concentrate on_ that_, maybe..." She shrugged lamely.

He let out a shaky breath. "He better fucking come quietly or I'll..."

"I know," she interrupted. "I know."

"Fine," he snapped, then turned a baleful eye on the woman. "Get yer shit together, Bron..."

"Brytta," she corrected stiffly. "My name is Brytta."

Snorting, he shrugged. "Whatever. Gonna check on Brie, make sure she's all right, then we're leavin'." Waiting only long enough for her to nod curtly, he whirled on his heel and stormed into Ghru's hut, slamming the door behind him.

Brytta let out the breath she'd been holding. "He would be no comfort to that woman."

Sandy frowned as she smoothed her skirts. "There's... something you should know about him."

"What would _that_ be?" Brytta growled. "Besides his foul mouth and vile temper?"

"He doesn't handle... his emotions well," Sandy said delicately.

"Really," the woman replied sarcastically, crossing her arms over her chest.

"I'm serious," Sandy said. "He's been bottling them up for a _long_ time. Saruman didn't give them _anything_ to use in dealing with... well, _life_. He brought them into being, then he gave them swords and pushed them at his enemies. Nûrzgrat's the oldest, the one most... Orcish, I guess. He doesn't handle grief well, he doesn't handle frustration... He just gets angry and lashes out. He _fights_. _None_ of us has ever seen him cry."

"Orcs do not weep," Brytta said witheringly. Sandy arched her eyebrows.

"Yes, they do," she said quietly. "If they're broken enough, they do. But I've never seen _him_ do it. All the rest of them, yes. Him, no. He's come close; awful god damn close. But he's never done it in front of any of us. It's likely to be an explosion like you would not believe." Sighing, she said, "I just want to warn you. I have a feeling things are going to be... I think it's going to be rough. Just... prepare yourself. That's all."

Blinking, Brytta shook her head. "I do not understand."

"Then _ask_ him," Sandy breathed. "Get him to talk. Make him tell you what's been happening here, and what happened _then_. Frû... bonded to that woman, and he can't shake it. He can't ignore it, he can't forget it... Obviously, or he wouldn't still want to be with her two years later. _Two_ _years_. Plenty of time to forget and move on, if it was normal. If he was... one of us. But he isn't, and now he's risked everything to go after her. Running across _Rohan_. _Alone_. If he were thinking clearly, he wouldn't dream of doing something so stupid." She sighed, glancing at the door Nûrzgrat just disappeared behind. "I worry about what'll happen when he catches up to him."

"I do not understand what you mean by a _bond_."

"I don't know how universal it is among Orcs in general, but he bonded to her. Brie knows more about these things than I do. I only know what I've observed, and... well, it's not going to be pretty, put it that way." She frowned and looked away for a moment. Nûrzgrat had apparently gotten hit with it just as hard, if she read his oblique reference and pleading reluctance correctly. But as she'd told him, he wasn't Frû. He was older, wiser, more experienced, and certainly more self-confident. Everything Frû wasn't, basically. How could Brytta _not_ like him?

Or was her friendship with the grouchy old bastard coloring her opinion? Was this going to be a great favor to him, or the worst foul-up Middle Earth had ever seen?

"Brytta," Sandy warned sternly, and her tone caught the woman's full attention, "just because he's an Orc doesn't mean he doesn't have feelings, or he doesn't know anything. Don't make an enemy of him right out of the gate, okay?"

"I will do what I must," Brytta said stiffly. "If that means... enduring such a..." She shuddered. "I have killed his kind for many years. He has not given me sufficient reason to regret that."

"Try not to be a bitch, if you can help it," Sandy snarled, losing her patience. "Remember _where_ he's going, and _why_. If he didn't give a damn what happens to Hengolwen, he'd let Frû go without a second thought. He certainly wouldn't risk his life in enemy territory. Keep _that_ in mind, and think again on your 'regrets.'"

* * *

As soon as the door slammed, Nûrzgrat winced. Hontor woke from her sleep and started wailing pitifully. Following the sound with his eyes, he saw that the young girl held the whelp.

"Thank you, Nûrzgrat," Ghru groaned sarcastically, then lurched to his feet. He crossed the room to the flushed and terrified girl, and lifted his daughter from her arms. Sighing, the giant Uruk began soothing the whelp, pacing about the room slowly and purring softly in his chest. Gwen stared at him in wonder for a moment, then turned her frightened gaze back on Nûrzgrat. He barely acknowledged her.

"Sorry, Ghru," he mumbled, then went to kneel by Brie's bedside. Mae scooted back to give him room.

A bit more alert now that an experienced healer was urging fluids into her, Brie looked up at Nûrzgrat and smiled wanly. His expression softened as he took hold of her pale hand.

"I'll be leavin' soon," he murmured gently. "Goin' after Frû, like I meant to. You doin' all right? This Mae... she takin' care of you?"

"I'm much better," Brie assured him.

Glancing at Mae, who seemed to be transfixed by him for some reason, Nûrzgrat felt a little bit vengeful and curled his lip in a sneer. "Their 'swordsman''s comin' with me. Turns out, _he's_ a _she_. Can't get rid of the bitch, either. Thinks she's gonna be of use or somethin'."

Mae straightened with alarm. "Bronhador... is a _woman_?"

Smirking, Nûrzgrat grunted. "Aye. Name ain't Bron; it's _Brytta_. Had yuh fooled, didn't she?"

"Here now," Faelur interjected angrily. "What's all this? The man I hired deceived us?"

"Men ain't got tits, whiteskin," the Uruk supplied. It was rather satisfying seeing these folk so taken off guard. What, did they not think a female could handle herself? Five minutes with Sandy and they'd know better, he thought with a chuckle. "Last I checked, men ain't got cunts, neither. Shoulduh had yerself a look."

Faelur's mouth fell open in shock. Quite aside from this cretin's crudities, he was _deceived_. And by a _woman_, no less. How in the world had he not seen it himself? Faelur was positively floored by Bron's... _Brytta's_ deception. He began wracking his brain, trying to recall what signs he missed that should have revealed her to him, and what trickery she _must_ have used to prevail where the men had not.

"Nûrzgrat," Brie admonished weakly. He reluctantly dialed back his mirth at the whiteskins' expense and focused on the sick woman.

"Sorry," he muttered.

Brie searched his eyes. While he certainly seemed rather gleefully satisfied by the family's reaction to his revelation, there was something else there.

"Nûrzgrat," she repeated, tightening her grip almost imperceptibly. "Is she...?"

Swallowing, he bowed his head. Could these damn females read his thoughts, too?

"Don't get your hopes up, woman," he snarled, curling his lip. "I sure as fuck don't."

Releasing his hand, she touched his dark, leathery cheek. "You be good."

He snorted, but didn't move away.

"Are you listening to me?" she said sternly.

"Yeah," he growled. "I know... how he feels."

"Don't you dare be mean to her," Brie admonished. "Don't be angry with her, either."

"I'd rather leave her ass here."

"I know," Brie said sympathetically.

"Sandy put her up to it, I know," Nûrzgrat griped almost petulantly. "For Hengolwen's sake."

"Then you guard her," she said firmly.

"She can take care of herself," he snarled. "Don't need me."

A slight smile teased the corners of her mouth. "Give it time."

"Time?" he chuckled bitterly. "That all it takes?"

"That's all _we_ needed," she pointed out in a whisper.

"Need more'n that _this_ time."

"Time and hope, then," Brie offered.

"Got no hope, Brie," he said bleakly.

"Then just... be... _you_. Do what you do. Be the brave, strong, and capable leader you have always been. Concentrate on finding Frû, and keeping Hengolwen safe."

"I will. And you... get better, all right?"

"I'm in good hands. I'll be fine." She patted his cheek gently. "And I want you to keep your promise to come back. Please, Nûrzgrat."

"All right," he sighed unconvincingly.

"Promise me. Swear it."

Growling low in his throat, he snarled, "I promise I'll come back here. When all is done."

Brie relaxed a bit and let her hand fall to cover his on the bed. "Good. Don't let him get any further ahead. You need to go."

"Aye." Rising, he met Mae's gaze. She was looking at him with an appraising eye, as if she wasn't quite sure what she was looking at. Curling his lip menacingly, he snarled, "You let her die, and I'll gut you."

"Nûrzgrat," Brie chided with exasperation.

Though their exchange was confusing, Mae had taken his measure and found that, in spite of what he was, he clearly treated women with respect. Raising her eyebrows, she said evenly, "I have no intention of letting her die. And I don't think it is likely. She will be fine."

The Uruk nodded curtly. "All right." Then he shifted his gaze to Gwen, who shrank before him. Staring hard at the floor, he mumbled, "Sorry... about the... back there. I... uh... just... gettin' the knife off yuh. Wasn't... uh... Sorry." Snarling at himself, Nûrzgrat gave up and strode out of the cabin hastily, taking care not to let the door slam this time.

Gwen wasn't sure what just happened. An apology? From an _Orc_? She looked up at her father, who was scowling at the door as if the Orc was still there. She suspected he had not forgiven the Orc for the liberty he took. Gwen hugged herself; if he did not forgive, she shouldn't either, right?

Brie looked at Faelur's hostile expression and sighed. "You should know that was difficult for him. Nûrzgrat doesn't often apologize, even when he knows he's in the wrong. By your look, I imagine that was unexpected."

Wrenching his gaze from the door, Faelur replied, "I was raised to believe that they are not even capable of _recognizing_ they have done wrong."

"What do you think now?"

"I think they are..." Glancing over at Ghru, he met the big Uruk's intense glare; it was a hostile, predatory stare. Swallowing, Faelur opted for a prudent retreat from revealing too much. "I am not sure _what_ I think," he answered evasively.

"_I_ am certain," Mae said quietly. "It was good fortune that led Nûrzgrat to us, I've no doubt of that."

Gwen's eyes shifted between her parents incredulously. "But... Berendir... You recall what he said of... of them." She cautiously peeked up at the big Uruk, whose gaze flicked momentarily to her before returning to his child and softening with affection. She frowned with uncertainty.

"Berendir," Mae said carefully, "is dead. Perhaps you do not recall his rashness when we were attacked, but I do. I wonder if he had lived... if it were _he_ instead of Bron-... _Brytta_ who remained with us at the end..." Her brow furrowed. "Though she spoke often of slaying Orcs, she fought at Nûrzgrat's side. Berendir likely would not, and the opportunity would have been lost. I believe that she saw more clearly in that instant, and it saved all our lives."

Startled, Faelur looked intently at his wife. These were dangerous thoughts she seemed to be indulging, he mused, claiming their salvation was attained by that deceitful woman's 'insights.' Did she think Brytta's _womanhood_ made her in some way superior? Furthermore, that Mae possessed a mind capable of making anything like a strategic assessment of battle thoroughly escaped his notice over the twenty years of their marriage. He was not pleased with this turn of events, not in the least. Were he back home among his peers, he would seek their counsel on this matter, most assuredly.

"In any case," Mae continued, "what he said was either completely wrong, or only applied to some. I am willing to forget what has been told and look to what I _see_." Smiling at Ghru, she said, "I see a father who adores his child, and a man devoted to his lady."

Ghru met her eyes and allowed a slight smile to twitch one corner of his mouth.

Faelur's gaze flicked to the beast, still purring like a monstrous cat as it rocked the tiny abomination in its arms. All _he_ could see was a great beast only kept at bay by the bedridden woman's sorcery.


	8. The Inconvenient Dead

**The Inconvenient Dead**

Brytta shifted from foot to foot impatiently, arms crossed over her chest, glowering at Nûrzgrat. He'd grabbed and shouldered his pack, but now that woman was talking quietly to him. Far too close, to her mind. How could she stand to be in such proximity? Standing close enough to whisper something in the Orc's ear that made him scowl and twitch his thin lips. _Then_ she embraced the foul beast! Brytta thought she might vomit. For his part, the gesture seemed uncomfortable, for he only patted her back with one hand and looked away with something like embarrassment on his brutish face.

Finally, he broke away from Sandy and turned purposely toward Brytta, as if to stave off any further conversation with the redhead.

"Got yer shit?" he barked, glaring somewhere in the vicinity of her belly.

"I haven't much," Brytta informed him. "We left our gear at the wagon. I would like to return there, if you do not mind," she added sarcastically.

Nûrzgrat growled low in his chest, but shrugged and headed for the path leading to the river. Fru's scent trail had led him at least that far before the interruption; it was where he was going anyway. "Try to keep up."

Sandy had no parting wisdom for the woman, so Brytta gave her a curt nod and followed the Orc into the trees.

Stopping at the riverbank only long enough to fill some waterskins, Nûrzgrat tried to think of a way to ditch this woman quickly. It would be something akin to murder if he waited too long; near the settlement, she would at least have somewhere safe to go. Annoyingly, not only had Brie advised him to mind his manners, but Sandy added a demand for patience as well.

"She doesn't know what happened to you guys," Sandy had said quietly in his ear. "She doesn't understand what was done to you, what you were forced to do, how you were made, what you had to do to survive... She only knows what she's been taught, so don't get shitty about it. Correct her understanding as nicely as you can, okay?"

"'Nice'? How the fuck am I supposed to tell her about rape and murder in a _nice_ way?"

"Hell, I don't know," she replied with exasperation. "I'm sure you'll figure it out."

Right. 'Figure it out.' He'd rather 'figure out' how to get her to run screaming back to camp and leave him to his job. Rising, he stowed the filled skins in his pack and headed west.

They kept a slow pace for the next couple of hours, the forest's thick undergrowth preventing them from running. Brytta watched his back, noted the placement of his weapons, once again wondered where he'd gotten an Elven sword, and chewed her lip. Night was coming, and she hated to admit it, but she was tired. She didn't particularly want to hunt an Orc at night. She didn't favor sleeping in the company of an Orc, either.

When they finally emerged on the road, Nûrzgrat led them a few hundred yards south to where the wagon still stood, its contents intact. Apparently, the group of bandits didn't have confederates to attend to the spoils while the rest eliminated the burdensome witnesses.

Thankfully, Brytta's fellows were still there as well, their bodies as yet unmolested by wild animals.

"All right," Nûrzgrat said quietly, eyes darting warily up and down the road, nostrils flaring as he tried to pick up Fru's scent again. Damned if his nose wasn't traitorously focusing on Brytta! He moved a bit further away just to get clear of her, futile as that was. "Get your shit together, and be quick about it."

Brytta's eyes scanned the bodies of Berendir, Maevodh, and Nibendu, strewn about the area where they'd been cut down. Dag, she knew, was somewhere in the forest. Did they have families, she wondered? Someone back home who would weep for their passing? Such things weren't discussed, and now she felt greater remorse for her ignorance. They had fought Orcs together before the War, escorted caravans during and after, brought families safely to new holdings... and she'd never once asked if they had lovers or wives. Talk at the campfire was about the here and now, not what had been or what might be. Her history held its own pain; she would not have revealed it anyway.

Perhaps that was best, she mused. None had ties, or they would not be in such a dangerous business. Still, she felt she had a duty. They had, after all, shared a warrior's experience over the last few years, regardless that they never guessed her identity.

"We must bury them," Brytta said out loud.

The stillness was broken by Nûrzgrat's incredulous explosion. "What?" he roared, whirling around and glaring at her. She met his fierce yellow eyes defiantly.

"They fought bravely," she said. "They should not be left here for wild animals to feast upon. They deserve better than that."

"Ain't got _time_ for that shit," the Uruk snarled. "You wanna spare them gettin' eaten, burn'em."

Taken aback, Brytta hissed, "That's _barbaric_! I will do no such thing!"

She was so indignant at the suggestion, Nûrzgrat chuckled. "Ain't barbaric when it's _us_, though, eh?" He strode over and glared down at her. The top of her head barely reached his blunt nose. "You think I ain't seen what you lot've done to _us_? Dragged our corpses into piles and made great pyres of us? That ain't barbaric to you, is it?"

"That is.. different," she protested weakly. "That is to... prevent the spread of disease..."

Now Nûrzgrat roared with bitter laughter. "_That's_ a load of horse shit." Punching her shoulder with a clawed finger, he snarled, "You burn us cause you think we're _filth_. You burn us cause you don't want our kind dirtying up your pretty world."

"I suppose," she retorted, pushing his hand away, "once they are sufficiently _cooked_, you'll be more than happy to _eat_ them."

A slow grin spread across his face. "Cookin' won't make'em taste better."

Brytta's mouth closed tightly as she felt her stomach roil. She'd heard rumors; of course she had. Who had not? "So... you _would_ eat them?" she managed quietly, hoping he was just trying to frighten her.

Nûrzgrat forced himself to look her in the eyes. If he was reading her right, and that wasn't easy no matter how many years he'd been in the company of whiteskin females, the idea that Orcs ate Men was thoroughly repellent to her. Perhaps repellent enough to send her packing? Damn, he wouldn't even have to lie!

"Course I would," he replied casually. "There is no meat sweeter than man-flesh. It's been a fair few years since I last had a bite." To drive it home, he licked his sharp teeth and tusks, grinning at her.

"That's disgusting," Brytta hissed.

"Get your shit," he repeated slowly, a scowl contorting his face once more. "Leave them. They're _dead_; they don't care what the fuck happens to them anymore." Grinning maliciously, he added, "Maybe a bunch of Orcs'll come by. Probably ain't eaten well in years."

"Is that meant to comfort me?" she snapped, glowering at him.

His grin broadened. "I ain't 'equipped' to comfort no female."

"That is not amusing," she hissed. Glaring hotly at him, she snarled, "I will build cairns, then. Pile stones upon them, so they may rest undisturbed."

Rolling his eyes, Nûrzgrat grunted and turned away. "Build a fucking temple if you want. I'm off." Striding away angrily, he shot back over his shoulder, "I'll let Hengolwen know we were delayed because _you_ thought the dead mattered more than her."

Brytta froze, stunned. _That son of a bitch!_ she thought. She had to confess her attention was thoroughly bent toward the violation of corpses belonging to men she barely knew, instead of a woman in dire need of her aid as soon as possible. It was a low blow, but what else could one expect of an Orc? Even worse, she couldn't argue with him. That he'd won this round was galling in the extreme. Fetching her pack from the wagon with jerking motions, she secured it quickly and hastened down the road after the stiff-backed Orc.

Nûrzgrat smirked as she fell into step beside him. "Whiteskins," he snorted. "You get so fucking hung up on shit that don't matter. Don't know how you lot win wars with all your damned sniveling."

"We _win_ because our causes are _just_," she shot back. "We _win_ because we are _right_."

"Huh," he grunted mockingly. "Heard the same shit comin' outta _Sharkû's_ mouth. _He_ said the stronger hand should rule, cause it was _right_."

Faltering for a moment, Brytta asked, "Who is... _Sharkû_?"

"My...," Nûrzgrat began, then halted, swallowing uncomfortably. _No_, he reminded himself, _not anymore_. "_Used_ to be my master. _Our_ master. You lot call him 'Saruman.' He's a wizard, and he made us fight his wars for him." Spitting on the ground, he growled, "Wish I'd seen him get taken down."

She nodded. "I am told it was an ignoble death," she recalled. "Struck down by his slave, in the Shire of all places."

Brytta continued a few paces before realizing the Orc had stopped in his tracks. Glancing back, she saw again that look of bafflement and shock which somehow managed to soften his features. Mouth hanging open slightly, he huffed several times, trying to get words out. She narrowed her eyes.

"What is _wrong_ with you?" she finally asked, and her voice seemed to break through. He shook himself and swallowed.

"Did you say... _Sharkû's_ dead?" he said incredulously.

"Yes, that is what I said," she replied.

"When?"

Looking off into space for a moment, Brytta gave it some thought. When had she last been in Bree, and heard the tale from some Hobbits of Buckland, who'd fought in the Battle of Bywater and witnessed the wizard's fall?

"A year past, I believe," she estimated. "Or perhaps a year and a half. This news surprises you?"

Shaking himself, Nûrzgrat shrugged and resumed walking. "A bit," he grudgingly confessed. "Thought he was... you know... too powerful for somethin' like that."

"Hmph," Brytta said. "No man is invincible. Cut down with a simple dagger wielded by his servant, so I heard. The servant then was slain by Hobbit bowmen. Saruman had thought to avenge himself upon the Shirefolk, but any one of Bree-land could tell him they are tougher than they look."

Nûrzgrat nodded in agreement. "Aye. Little folk they are, but brave. One of'em brought down the Eye. Met'im, over a year and a half ago." Nodding, he smiled a little. "Didn't stay long, but that Frodo... he was... well, he didn't mind us so much." Chuckling to himself, he muttered, "Year and a half. He might've been there when the old fuck got his."

Now Brytta halted and stared at the Orc in surprise. "You... _met_ Frodo of the Nine Fingers?"

"I did," he said. "On his way back to the Shire from the War. Had a bunch of fuckin' _Elves_ with him." Rolling his eyes, he shook his head and took off again. "Can't get rid of'em now. Always stoppin' by, checkin' on the females, makin' sure we ain't doin' nothin' bad... 'Clearin' out their closets,' as Sandy would say." Patting the elegantly decorated sword hilt at his hip, he growled, "Couple things they've given us ain't been so bad, I suppose."

"I wondered where you got such a... beautiful weapon," Brytta breathed, the shock of this Orc's acquaintances still sinking in. Sandy had said they were visited by Elves; she hadn't mentioned their other 'guests.'

Snorting, Nûrzgrat snarled, "Orcs don't need pretties. We want plain steel and sharp points. This shit's embarrassing."

Brytta pursed her lips to hide her amusement. "You are right about that. Such an ornate weapon at _your_ side does indeed look ridiculous."

He shot her an annoyed look. "Woulda brought my broadsword. _That's_ an Orc weapon."

"I suspect," she ventured with a touch of sarcasm, "it doesn't hope to compare with a finely-crafted weapon such as that Elven blade. It has been _my_ experience that an Orc-forged sword breaks in battle far more swiftly than its wielder." Chuckling, she added, "Who is, naturally, soon to follow."

"You ever fight anything but _snaga_?" he snapped. "You'd piss yerself if you went against Fighting Uruk-hai."

"You and your folk certainly do inspire terror," Brytta replied witheringly. "Any moment could have seen one of them put down their babe and hunt about for a sword for a half hour. I might have dampened myself a bit waiting on them."

Quite suddenly, Nûrzgrat was on her with a roar, clawed hand clamped over her throat while another held her sword arm. Fear ripped through her as she grabbed his wrist with her free hand. He pushed her off the path and up against a stout tree trunk, ramming her so hard the wind was knocked from her lungs, and her head rang from the impact.

"Give us a reason," he hissed close to her ear, squeezing her windpipe. "Come at us with swords, threaten our young, our mates... we don't need swords to rip your fucking ass apart."

"So... this... is your... true nature," she gasped, vainly trying to pull his hand from her throat. "You... wait... until... those women... who hold you back... are absent..."

"You don't fucking get it," he snarled, releasing her suddenly. Stepping back, he let her sag against the tree, rubbing her neck. "We're smart enough to know who our enemies are. Smarter yet; we know a threat when we see it. You ain't no threat, Brytta. None at all." Turning on his heel, he marched back to the road and didn't look back to see if she was following or not.

Taking a shuddering breath, she glared at him for a moment before slowly standing, straightening her armor jerkily, and following him down the road. _Not a threat? I will show you how threatening I can be,_ she thought angrily.

Nûrzgrat couldn't get Brytta's expression out of his mind for the next mile. Couldn't focus on the faint trail he was trying to follow, either. It felt good. He took her by surprise, forced that fear scent out of her, and it felt _good_. He felt like an Orc again, not some whiteskin-tainted mongrel full of confused feelings. It brought back memories of the old days, when reducing whiteskins to piddling piles of weeping shit pleased his Master, and what pleased Master pleased _him_. It was all he knew then, before things began to change. Before he began to _see_ what was happening around him. Was it because of Ghrulagûrz? Had _that_ been the catalyst, what happened to him? Nûrzgrat honestly couldn't remember, and hadn't taken particular note at the time. All he remembered now was that he followed his orders without question, without _thought_; then _Sharkû_ set the lust-crazed Uruks upon Ghru for his whimpering, and the thoughts began to change. The _questions_ began to form. He never asked them, but he remembered them.

Shaking his head, he tried not to think about it now. Nor did he want to think about why he felt fiercely strong and close to vomiting at the same time, but the thought still invaded: _I did that to **her**. That was wrong. In my gut, she's my mate, and you don't treat your mate that way. Even a fucking **snaga** knows that shit._

He shoved the thoughts away. Soon they would need to find a campsite, and then what? He didn't want to be off his guard with her on the watch after _that_ little incident; she'd probably knife him in his sleep. Sandy once told him women don't fight fair when their survival is on the line.

_Fuck_, he thought. _I'm good as dead. _

Well, best get it over with. Sighing, he started keeping an eye out for a suitable location to camp for the night.


	9. Remembering the Good Old Days

**Remembering the Good Old Days**

"This'll do," Nûrzgrat decided with a sharp nod. They could still see the road from the tiny clearing, but were sheltered enough by underbrush and trees that they wouldn't be seen. Even though he hadn't picked up more than a hint of Fru's passage through the area, he knew the bastard couldn't be more than a day ahead. "Get some sleep. I'll take first watch."

"You think me a fool?" Brytta asked coldly. "Let my guard down so you may cut my throat?" Smirking, she shook her head. "No. _You_ sleep. If you feel brave enough."

"Gotta get movin' hard at first light," he snarled. "Enough of this walkin' shit. Gotta start runnin'. You look like yer gonna drop as it is."

"I'm fine," she hissed.

"Woman," Nûrzgrat growled warningly, "I gave my word I'd be... _nice_. Don't make me break it over your _fuckin' head_."

"I... am... _fine_," she shot back pointedly. "I do not trust you."

"Really," he snapped sarcastically. "All right, bitch, if that's how you want it. Could use a few hours without havin' to listen to your fuckin' mouth."

"My mou-... I have hardly said a _word_ to you, you foul creature!" she cried indignantly. "I've nothing to say to you, and so have _said_ almost nothing!"

Smirking, he growled, "Maybe the last hour or so, you been quiet, yeah." The Uruk sat on a fallen log and started taking off his leather boots. "Before that, couldn't shut yer ass up."

Glowering at him, Brytta trembled with hate. "I do not understand how those women can stand to be on the same side of the mountains with you," she hissed.

Nûrzgrat chuckled, unmoved. "Been askin' the same question myself." He chucked one boot off and went after the other.

Frowning, Brytta asked, "What are you doing?"

"If you're takin' first watch," he said, tossing the second boot, "I ain't waitin' around for you to cut _my_ throat." Standing, he curled his lip in a sneer, then employed feet, hands and claws to scale a nearby tree. Taken aback not only by his action but the speed and grace with which he executed it, Brytta could only gape, speechless.

The branches above shook, dropping a few leaves as Nûrzgrat found a reasonably safe perch and draped himself in the crotch of a stout branch. From the ground in the gathering darkness, Brytta could barely make out one of his feet dangling freely after everything went still. The rest of him was completely hidden.

Already feeling drowsiness begin to take hold, he called down, "Just toss a rock or somethin' when it's my turn."

"More like a flaming brand," Brytta muttered under her breath resentfully.

"Hmph," Nûrzgrat snorted. "Careful, woman. Just like an Orc with _that_ thinkin'. Usin' a battering ram to open a coffer. Burn down a forest to get one Orc outta the trees."

"How did you...?" she said, startled. Her voice had been pitched too low for even _her_ to hear it!

"Got ears, woman," he replied. "Not just my nose that's sharp."

"Is that what you were used for, then?" she snapped, moving to the tree and leaning against the trunk below him. "Spying?"

Again he chuckled. "Nah. Too noisy. _Shark__û_ had other uses for the likes of me."

"Hmm, let me guess," Brytta mused haughtily. "Torching villages, rousting innocents from their homes, skinning men alive... Am I close?"

"Aye, that," Nûrzgrat acknowledged a little uncomfortably. "Other things as well."

"Oh, do tell," she snarled. "What 'other things'?"

"War's over, woman," he said quietly, eyes fixed on the starry sky above. It seemed a lifetime ago Brianna told him he would miss them if they were gone. How right she'd been. "Let it lie."

"It is only over for some," she retorted.

"What're yuh lookin' for, eh?" he snapped. "A reason to gut me? You think you'd stand a chance gettin' to Hengolwen ahead of that nutsack without me?"

"You are an Orc," she said stiffly. "That is reason enough."

"Better thank your maker I don't have the same useless shit goin' through _my_ head," he growled.

Narrowing her eyes, she glared up at what she assumed was his dark form among the branches several yards above. "You think you are my better?"

"You think you're _mine_?" he countered.

Laughing humorlessly, she shook her head. "In all things, Orc."

He squeezed his eyes shut and bit his lip on a retort. The woman boiled his blood in many ways, not the least of which was with her disdain of him. How had he proven himself to Sandy and Brie? He had no idea now. First they feared him, then they... respected him. There never seemed to be _this_... He couldn't be certain, but he was fairly sure they never _hated_ him. He had no idea how to quell the hate in another, when it was such a challenge within himself.

And he still felt it, about a lot of things, even without the Shadow driving him.

First and foremost at the moment, he hated this pervasive bond that made him want so badly, _need_ so desperately, a woman who wouldn't trouble herself to piss on him if he was on fire. Was this part of the debt he and his folk owed, his portion of the payment? He'd rather be bled dry.

"Tell me something, Orc," Brytta said when he'd been quiet for awhile. "Do you long for the Shadow to return? Do you miss the battles, the weeping of the innocent, the flicker of the flames as you destroy all in your path?"

"You think I don't sometimes?" he growled with little heat. "Didn't have to think about nothin' back then. _Shark__û_ did the thinkin' for us. Didn't have to worry about whether what we were doin' might get him a victory or get us all killed. _Shark__û_ didn't give a fuck if we came back or not. He'd just make more and try again. He didn't _worry_. So we didn't either. It was easier then."

"So you have... 'worries' now, is that it?" she smirked. "What in the world does an _Orc_ have to worry about?"

Sighing, Nûrzgrat forced himself to calm. She was baiting him, he knew. He had to remind himself of what Sandy said. _Tell her 'nicely'. Right._

"Got younglings to feed," he replied quietly. "Gotta rethatch the roofs every spring or we get leaks when the hard rains come. Gotta keep tellin' Thak he's a good boy even when I wanna throttle the little bastard. Gotta make sure the younglings don't get too far from camp or wolves'll get'em, or worse." He swallowed hard. Even knowing Brie was doing better, seeing it with his own eyes before he left, barely erased the worry over _her_ after Hontor came. "Makin' sure everybody's alive at nightfall and still alive at dawn. I got worries, Brytta. Had enough of'em before that fucking cunt took off, and now I got another one."

Brytta sobered as he spoke. His concerns were so familiar in their commonness. It was likely Faelur, a Man and a father, shared many of them. She didn't quite know what to say.

The silence stretched for some minutes, and Brytta rather hoped he'd fallen asleep. Without a word, she detached herself from the tree and began pacing the perimeter of their meager camp, thoughts troubled.

Weary though he was, Nûrzgrat had difficulty finding sleep. To begin with, he realized that, though he'd climbed trees many times before, he'd never been called upon to _sleep_ in one, and found himself afflicted with mild vertigo and an irrational fear of falling. For another, he'd laid open part of himself that he only exposed to the trusted women in his clan. This bond and its associated lust, so he thought it, were no excuse for showing weakness, especially to an Orc hunter.

_It's what she **is**_, he reminded himself. _Won't take much on your part to have her at your throat._

Then there was the aching in places he'd just as soon there be no feeling whatsoever. A throbbing cock he could weather, quickly deal with, somewhat ignore if needed. The pain in his chest every time he looked at her, smelled her... fuck, even heard her venomous voice... Not so easy.

Now that it was his burden to bear, he was acutely reminded of Fru's suffering. The muttering in his sleep, often dissolving into whimpering. On waking, Nûrzgrat pretended not to hear the bastard weeping. He'd thought Fru a weakling, knew him to be a coward. Now he understood. He closed his eyes and hoped her nearness would at least spare him whatever dreams plagued Fru.

_Gotta be harder than this,_ he decided. _Be an **Orc,** you stupid fuck. Orcs don't snivel over females; **Men** do._

Taking a deep breath, he willed himself to sleep.

Below him, the many stresses of the last twenty-four hours were taking their toll on Brytta. Eyelids too heavy to remain open repeatedly blinded her, and her senses were dulled for want of sleep. Yet she refused to indulge the regret of not letting the Orc take first watch.

She never heard their approach.

One moment she was alone in the small clearing, the next there were half a dozen men dressed in leather and fur coverings surrounding her, crude weapons leveled and dirty, unshaven faces leering cruelly.

The first thought to run through her mind was that the Orc had set her up. These were Dunlending scum; allies of his former master. There were rumors they had found peaceful accord with Rohan in the aftermath of the war, but none in Bree-land truly believed it. Shaking herself alert, she drew her sword.

"What be your business here?" one growled.

"What is _yours_?" she countered, almost unconsciously deepening her voice out of long habit.

The apparent leader snorted. "The most blades ask the questions." He turned his head this way and that, drawing her eye to each man. "I say again: what be your business?"

"Traveling," she snarled. "That is a crime in your lands now?"

"You come from the north," he observed. "Worse if from the east. Bad enough, still." Spitting to the side, he eyed the camp, his gaze taking in details. Then his head swiveled back around to fix her with a steely glare. "Where be the other one, then?"

Brow furrowing, she couldn't answer for a moment. Then she asked, "What other one? I travel alone."

"Them extras? Got two more legs to fill'em that we ain't seen?" he smirked, pointing at the Orc's boots lying in a heap at the foot of the tree.

"Looking for your confederate, are you?" she snarled, double-fisting her sword and assuming a fighting stance. "I might have known."

Not understanding her words, the leader gestured for two of his number to range out in search of the missing encroacher. Turning back to the woman, he assessed her position and smirked. "You think you are our better, filthy northerner. These be _our_ lands, and you lot're not welcome." Nodding his chin to one of his men, he jerked his head toward Brytta. No words were spoken. They weren't needed.

Several things happened at once. The man advanced to engage Brytta and she was prepared to duel to the death with him, his fellows, however many came at her. Quite suddenly, the branches above rustled violently, and the large dark figure of a barefoot Orc dropped so abruptly on top of the man he had no chance to react, nor did his stunned fellows. The bright Elven sword flashed once, ending the man's life.

Roaring like a mountain lion in full throat, Nûrzgrat lunged for the leader, dodging the man's first panicked swing and getting in under his guard. More than had happened with the bandits, since the odds were tipped slightly further against him this time, the Uruk revelled in the bloodshed, the wild frenzy, the abandon of ferocious killing. Yet he kept his wits about him lest battle rage make him oblivious to all other considerations.

One of which was Brytta. That she was a seasoned Orc hunter, he knew. He'd guessed she went disguised as a male for many years. There was no doubt in his mind she could handle herself, yet he kept an ear pricked in case she needed a hand.

The leader was joined by two others, pressing the attack on Nûrzgrat's flanks. Weaving and ducking, battering like a ram with shoulders and kicking like a mule with clawed feet, he fought dirty. These were Dunlendings; they didn't deserve better, to his mind. One lost a hand to the keen Elven blade while the leader learned the colors and consistency of his innards on the Uruk's backswing. The third abandoned the fight and ran for the woods.

Turning with teeth bared, Nûrzgrat saw that the remaining two were pushing Brytta into a tight space between stout trees, hindering her defense. Something altogether different roared through his gut and exploded out of him in a thunderous bellow. Launching from a standstill, he landed on the back of one man and knocked him flat. His vision was tunneled and he could only see the struggling man beneath him. That, and the repeated pounding of his dark-skinned fists into the back of the man's head.

"Stop it, stop it!" he heard Brytta cry, and felt her hands on his swinging arm. She had to put a great deal of strength into halting the Uruk's punishing attack. "He is _dead_."

Nûrzgrat slowly ground to a halt and looked vaguely, confusedly up at the woman as if he didn't recognize her. Then he shook sense into his head.

"That it, then?" he rasped, gradually calming. He shakily stood, taking a few more steps away from his defeated foe. "Ain't any others?"

Brytta shook her head, staring at him wide-eyed. "You... did not arrange this."

Stunned, he gaped at her. "_What_? You think I...? Woman, you better have a good _fucking_ reason for saying that!"

"You are an Orc of Saruman's making," she snarled. "He was _allied_ with their like..."

Advancing on her, he lowered his voice to a menacing growl and pushed a clawed thumb into her breastbone. "Dunlendings sucked _Sharkû's_ cock, _not_ mine!"

Grimacing at his foul description, she glared at him with distaste. "You have a _disgusting_ way with words."

"Gimme time," he snarled, turning away. "It'll get worse." Dropping heavily on the fallen tree, he set to putting his boots back on. "Grab yer shit, we're headin' out. Find another spot to camp. One of'em got away from me. Might bring back others."

"Hmph," she snorted, shouldering her pack, "Two. Mine saw your little display and ran for it."

"Woulda thought you'd take'im down," Nûrzgrat said absently as he yanked at the right boot. For some reason, it was always harder to get on than the left.

"Not that _you_ noticed," she snapped. "I did not see you turn your head in my direction once."

"Didn't see a need," he growled, seating his foot in the boot with a grunt. "You ain't stupid with a blade. I know you can hold yer own. Only thing I worried about was you turnin' on me as soon as the Dunlendings were dealt with."

Brytta let out a slow breath and slowly sank onto the log, staring at him. Unbidden came the memory of an argument so long ago, of a man she called lover and might have called husband, had he not insisted she lay aside the sword before he would wed her. It was a price she'd been unwilling to pay, and one he did not leave open for negotiation.

Might she have changed his mind if a pack of Orcs had not stolen him from her? She'd wanted the answer to be yes, but knew in her heart he never would. It was _unseemly_, having a wife whose skills with the blade surpassed your own. It was not her place to wield weapons or plan skirmishes. No man she had ever met held a different opinion. She could not stand as their equal in any way... until she assumed the guise of a man, and they knew naught else of her. _Then_ her skills were praised, her head for strategy admired... She knew she would never be accepted as she was born, only what she pretended to be.

It was a shock to realize that the Orc had _assumed_ she could handle it without his help, interference, _protection_...

"Eh," Nûrzgrat barked, snapping his fingers in her face. She started and met his yellow gaze. "Come on."

"Yes," she muttered, nodding absently. The Uruk eyed her suspiciously, not quite sure where she'd gone in her thoughts for those few moments, but he at least knew that something disturbed her.

_Fuck, what **doesn't** get a female's knickers twisted?_ he groused to himself. _'specially this one._


	10. Tools of Their Master's Craft

**Tools of Their Master's Craft**

Brytta couldn't let it go, her mind burning with confused thoughts. If this Orc were truly an unholy mix of Man and Orc, would he not have favored one or the other in his actions? She would have expected him to shove her aside and take the brunt of the attack, for she was a _woman_ and men thought of her as weak. Otherwise, being more physically Orcish than Mannish, he should have followed _that_ side of his making and either slain her or assisted the Dunlendings in killing her. Or worse, stayed where he was and smirked as they finished her off. His sudden appearance momentarily led her to believe she had one more opponent on her hands.

Yet he did not turn against her. Rather than coddle her, he fought at her side. It was a turn of events that shocked her so completely, she was unable to regain her advantage, and allowed her opponent to limp off unchallenged.

Following in the Orc's wake, she was further confounded by his apparent difficulty navigating in the darkness. Twice now he'd bumped swearing into trees. Her own eyes were too ill-equipped to lead them to a more secure location, but _his_... Was he not an Orc?

"What is wrong with you?" she finally snapped. "Can you not see?"

Nûrzgrat rounded on her. He was already beyond furious by the loss of much-needed rest compounded by a floundering march through dense undergrowth. It gave him some small satisfaction using the _golug_ blade to cut through the bushes and hack maliciously at grasping tree branches, hoping such use would insult _some_ Elf _some_ where.

"_Course_ I can't fucking see!" he barked harshly. His rough voice echoed in the quiet night. Wary of attracting more unwanted visitors, he lowered the volume. "It's _dark_."

"Orcs are servants of the Shadow," Brytta sneered. "Darkness does not hinder them."

Curling his lip, Nûrzgrat growled, "_Shark__û_ wanted us walkin' about under the sun. He had plenty of _snaga_ for night work. Didn't matter much to him if we could see in the dark or not, so he let that go. And we _ain't_ servants no more!" he added angrily.

"Indeed," she replied dismissively. "Tell me, then. Do you hate the sun, though it does you no harm?"

Dialing back his anger, he shrugged. "Don't mind it. Prefer a cloudy day. Sun hurts my eyes a bit." Seeing her nod knowingly, he snarled, "Too _bright_, bitch. It don't make me _weak_."

"Do not call me that," she hissed, "or I shall respond in kind."

Chuckling, he shook his head. "There ain't nothin' you can think up that I ain't been called before."

"We shall see," she muttered.

Snorting, Nûrzgrat turned his attention back to the task at hand, and pushed his way through another thick barrier of foliage. How Elves could stand to live in this shit, he had no idea.

Another half hour passed before he felt comfortable with the area. The Dunlendings would likely go back to their camp to lick their wounds, but wait until morning for any serious retaliation. They were simply Men, and just as cursed with night blindness as he was.

"All right," the Uruk growled quietly, "get some sleep. I'll take watch this time."

"I can take the watch," Brytta replied coldly.

"No you won't," Nûrzgrat said, advancing to stand threateningly close. It took a monumental effort for him to crank down his anger at being questioned. "You're tired. I'll take it. No arguments."

Bristling in spite of the Orc's relatively conciliatory tone, she hissed defensively, "Are you criticizing my abilities?"

"Right now, yeah," he snarled. "Senses are dulled for lack of rest. I don't doubt you'd've seen or heard them fuckers comin' if you'd been alert. Like you are, we were lucky they asked our business first."

To his annoyance, she seemed to be searching for an opening from which to bite back. "Well... how was it _you_ were caught unawares? Why did _you_ not warn _me_, if your... nose is so superior?"

"Cause they weren't _stupid_," he snapped. "Wind was wrong. Didn't know they were there til they were right under me." Seeing her readying herself for a follow-up, he snarled, "And I didn't _hear_'em cause I... my thoughts were elsewhere... and I was trying to sleep."

He was grateful she didn't press him for what thoughts would so occupy him he missed an enemy's approach.

"Get some sleep." He turned away and dropped his pack on the ground.

"I have a question," Brytta said stiffly.

Snorting, Nûrzgrat groused, "One more? Then will you fuckin' sleep?"

"Yes," she replied. "I want to know... what are your intentions?"

Rounding on her incredulously, he snapped, "What the fuck kind of question is that?" He approached her, head tilted as if he couldn't quite figure out what the hell her problem was. "You _know_ I'm going to stop Frû from gettin' to Hengolwen."

"No," she said. "Regarding _me_."

Fortunately, it was too dark for her to see the full effect of her statement. Nûrzgrat felt his face go slack with panic. _She can't possibly know_, he tried to convince himself. Shaking his head sharply, he covered the unguarded moment with bluster. "You want the truth? I want your _ass_ goin' back to the settlement where it's safe. Want you outta my way so I can get the job done. _I don't need your meddlin'._"

Glaring at him, she snapped, "I will not turn aside from this path. Hengolwen needs me."

Nûrzgrat looked away, his lips twitching on a snarl around his tusks. "Suppose you're right," he grudgingly conceded.

"Answer me this," she said, crossing her arms over her chest. "Why did you not treat me as Men do?"

Startled, the Uruk frowned. "How... how would a Man treat you?"

"You know I am a woman," she said matter-of-factly. "A Man with such knowledge would have tried to protect me. He would not have allowed me to endanger myself by fighting."

Nûrzgrat shook his head, his lip curling with disdain. "That's because whiteskin men are stupid _fuckers_," he hissed venomously.

Narrowing her eyes, she said, "So you did not believe I was worth protecting?"

He stared at her in bafflement. _What the fuck is this about?_ he wondered. "Why would I need to protect you when you're capable of doin' it yourself?" he asked incredulously. "If I took on all five of'em tryin' to look after _you_, I'd likely be dead. Look what happened to those men you were with. Had to worry about that family, keepin'em safe. Couldn't defend _themselves_. _All_ of'em died, and you were fast on their heels." Snorting and shaking his head, he added, "You're good with a sword. No reason to think _I_ need to pick up _your_ slack."

Eying her suspiciously when she continued to stare at him in surprise, Nûrzgrat growled, "You done with the fucking questions?"

"One last," she managed to say. The Uruk rolled his eyes and heaved a long-suffering sigh. "Why did you not slay me when you had the chance?"

"I ain't answering that," Nûrzgrat barked furiously. "Get your ass to sleep. That is the end of it." Turning, he headed for the perimeter to begin his watch, but her question just stuck in his craw. Rounding on her once more, he thrust a clawed finger in her startled face. "Them the only things you can think of that I'd do? Treat you like a helpless lump, or kill you? Ain't no middle ground with you, is there?"

"I do not know _anything_ about you _or_ your kind," she snarled. "Orcs I know. An Orc would have killed me by now. A Man would have taken my sword and given me his trousers to mend. I do not understand why you do neither when you are a mix of both."

He looked at her for a long moment before speaking. "I doubt you noticed, when you were slaughtering Orcs up north, that some were female."

Startled, Brytta's eyes widened and she stiffened. "What?"

"Mind you, I ain't never met an Orc female," Nûrzgrat said evenly. "_Sharkû_ didn't let the _snaga_ bring their mates or families inside the walls of Isengard. But I been told. The only time an Orc female ain't fightin' is when she's whelpin'. Rest of the time, she's got a sword in her hand, defending home and kin. At her mate's side, like as not. Fight just as hard and just as fierce as the males."

"I have not... _met_ Orc females either," Brytta said evasively. "Have you fought alongside Uruk-hai females? Are they the same?"

Wincing, Nûrzgrat looked away. "There... ain't no females," he muttered.

"What do you mean?"

Taking a deep breath, he forced himself to say, "_Sharkû_ didn't make none."

"That is absurd," Brytta scoffed. "How could he not? How is it _you_ were made?"

Nûrzgrat sank onto a large rock and leaned forward, elbows on his knees. Tension in his shoulders ratcheted up a notch. He didn't want to tell her this. There was no way to say it 'nicely' as Sandy said he should.

"_Sharkû_ bred us to whiteskin females," he said hollowly, keeping his eyes fixed on the leaf-strewn forest floor. "We... raped them."

Nausea threatened to overwhelm her, but Brytta stood fast. "That is... revolting. But... I suspected as much," she said shakily. "Even still, there would sometimes be females born of such... unions, would there not?"

Nûrzgrat slowly nodded his head. "Sometimes."

"What became of them?"

Had it been a year ago that Razkaar asked the same question? In his ignorance, Nûrzgrat told him there just weren't any that he knew of, but he'd only been in the breeding pits himself the one time, and never again afterwards. He couldn't know for sure. So he'd asked Morkoth.

The look on the big Uruk's face before he bolted, uncharacteristically avoiding the question... Nûrzgrat had to hunt Morkoth's ass down and pry it out of him, then spent a week trying to forget what he'd been told. Months wishing the nightmares would stop.

They still hadn't.

"Well?" Brytta prodded impatiently.

"_Sharkû_ wanted... an army," he began, his voice seemingly far away, as if belonging to another. "He didn't value females as soldiers. Thought they were weak. A distraction. Then there was... He didn't want us... If we bred on our own, our numbers would be too many to... control. So... when they were born... he butchered them." Taking a shuddering breath, he rose and walked out of the clearing, saying only one more thing on his way. "Get some sleep."

Brytta stared at him until he disappeared in the gloom. She'd never heard anything so horrible in all her days. For a moment, she forgot these were _Orcs_. She wanted to embrace that knowledge once more, and _not care_. She wanted to smirk at such treatment as befitting beasts born of such foul methods as he described.

Two things kept her from calling this revelation anything less than a tragedy. To begin with, his description of Orcs told her that, though wretched and disgusting, they valued their women. Considered them equals. It was something she had never seen among Men, and explained why he treated her as he did.

The other was the way in which he told her of his master's deeds. There was a wellspring of pain within this Orc for what was done, and she realized he knew full well what it meant. They were created to fulfill a single purpose. They were not expected to carry on past that point.

Half of their folk, destroyed without remorse, because they were not deemed _useful_. Was such disregard common? Were _all_ Orcs treated like weapons or tools, crafted for their master's use, discarded if not found satisfactory?

She wondered now if this Orc had witnessed his own offspring slain before his eyes, as if it had no value. She'd seen him with the small boy, dandling the child on his knee as if he were the father. He seemed... comfortable with children. Protective of them. And Sandy did say he delivered the baby that so harmed the other woman in their settlement...

A baby she seemed to recall was a girl...

They were the strangest ideas that had ever entered Brytta's mind. She was not completely without feeling. It had honestly never occurred to her to even _entertain_ thoughts of what might be going through an Orc's mind, or what sort of life they led when not engaged in battle with Men. Like Berendir or Nibendu, she assumed Orcs served the Shadow willingly. Perhaps some did. But _this_ Orc, this... Nûrzgrat... he did not. She wondered if he ever had.

Such troubling thoughts would have to wait until morning, she decided. Unrolling her sleeping pallet, she settled herself down. As she began to drift off, she realized she didn't know where the Orc was. She also knew he could at least be trusted _this _much, and allowed herself to sleep.

* * *

The day couldn't possibly have ended faster, in Thakûf's opinion. He lay on his bed with his hands behind his head, staring at the timbered ceiling. To his left, Razkaar tossed and turned fitfully in his own bed. Across from them, Ilsa lay still and quiet in hers. She was a light sleeper, but utterly silent. Thak suspected she'd learned that at an early age and never lost the habit.

But today... _holy shit_, as Sandy would say.

The wonderful arrival of the whiteskins had been a cause for great excitement. They only ever saw _golug-hai_ melting out of the trees unexpectedly and at odd hours, startling everyone with their sudden appearances. This was the first time they'd seen whiteskins. Of course, Thak compared them to the Rohirrim villagers they'd met two years ago, and hoped to have better luck with Gwen than Hilda.

Even thinking about Hilda's haunted, terrified face everytime one of the Uruk-hai came into view made the young Uruk sad. One of his kind raped the girl; she'd carry that fear of Orcs to her grave. Though all he wanted was to _talk_ to her, he'd been advised strongly not to, and kept his distance.

Ever since that day, he'd wished every night that someone would magic him into a Man.

Now there was Gwen. He hadn't heard a single word about her being harmed by an Orc. And once she'd cleaned off her face and stopped sniffling, she was rather pretty. So he told her so.

You'd think he'd said something insulting. Her nose went up in the air like she was testing the wind, then she spun on her heel and stomped away. Confused, he followed her, thinking she'd picked up a good scent. That was apparently wrong as well.

"Leave me alone!" she'd cried, and _sprinted_ away. Next thing he knew, her da was storming after him. Utterly bewildered, he backed off, but he wasn't fast enough.

"Do not touch my daughter!" Faelur roared, grabbing Thakûf's collar and shaking the young Uruk until his eyeballs rattled in his skull.

"I didn't!" he protested, struggling against the man's firm grip. Then Sandy, hearing the commotion, flew out of Ghru and Brie's shelter like a tornado.

"Let go of him!" she snapped, disengaging the man's hand and freeing Thakûf. "What's this all about?"

"This... _ruffian_ laid hands upon my daughter," Faelur snarled.

"I didn't _touch_ her!" Thakûf cried.

Glaring at Faelur, Sandy growled, "He says he didn't touch her. What's _her_ story?"

"You would believe _his_ word over _hers_?" the man questioned indignantly.

"I've known this boy _two years_. I've known _you_ two minutes. What do _you_ think?"

Bristling, Faelur stood his ground for a moment, then seemed to loosen a bit. Gesturing to Gwen, he urged her to speak. Under the scrutiny of her elders, the girl hung her head. "He didn't... touch me." Then she rallied, raising her head and lifting her chin defiantly. "But he won't leave me alone! Always _staring_ at me."

Sandy nodded shortly. "All right. Thakûf, keep your distance. Some people are more... sensitive than others." Glaring at Faelur, she added, "And some don't bother to find out the truth before flipping their shit."

Faelur huffed indignantly, but before he could formulate a response, Sandy turned her back on him.

"Why don't you two come with me?" Sandy suggested in a way that didn't provide the option of saying no. Gwen and Thakûf followed in her footsteps to the other side of the common area surrounded by the huts. Directing them to sit side-by-side on a log, she stood before them and crossed her arms over her chest.

"Now," she said sternly, "Gwen, how old are you?"

"I... I am sixteen years old," the girl replied uncertainly.

"Good," the redhead nodded. "You two are about the same age, then."

Thakûf's brow furrowed. "But... I'm only two."

"Eh," Sandy said impatiently, "close enough."

Gwen stared at the Orc. "Two? Two _years_?" Shrugging, he nodded.

"Okay, lesson on Uruk-hai gestation later," Sandy interrupted. "You two are _roughly_ the same age in terms of maturity, all right? You're going to be living here with your folks for awhile, Gwen. Why don't you figure out how to be nice to Thakûf here, hmmm? And _you_ try not to intimidate her by getting too close. A girl likes her privacy. Now, I want to see you two spending _at least_ an hour a day talking. If I _don't_, I'll put you both on chores you have to do together. Or _worse_, I'll have Morkoth assign the chores."

Thakûf groaned. "Not _him_," he whined. "Guttin' game ain't no _fun_."

"Chores aren't supposed to be fun or they'd be called something else," she snapped.

"I will _not_ stick my hands in an animal's _guts_," Gwen snapped haughtily. She folded her arms over her chest like a petulant child.

"How do you think we put meat on the table around here?" Sandy countered, raising an eyebrow. "Did you think the deer just walk into the clearing and give themselves up? Take off their warm winter coats and hang them on the rack? Offer up the choicest cuts of meat, right off their own flanks?"

"But he gets so mad if you fuck it up!" Thakûf whimpered, and Gwen looked at him aghast for saying such a foul word.

"He's doing better, you must admit," Sandy reminded the young Uruk. "I think counting to ten has worked wonders for him."

_Almost turned into Nûrzgrat there for while_, Thakûf recalled. While the huge Uruk never made any overtures toward challenging Nûrzgrat for leadership, as the older Uruk's absences stretched longer and became more frequent, Morkoth had assumed the role of proxy leader. That had, unfortunately, resulted in him acting as he thought Nûrzgrat would in any given situation. Most of the time that meant a lot of yelling and knocking things around.

Of course, Gwen continued to pout, Thakûf continued to whine, and Sandy was obliged to assign them Morkoth duty for the whole of the next day. Dreading it now as he tried to wind down for sleep, for he _knew_ he'd get his ass run off in the morning, Thakûf couldn't even muster any excitement about getting to spend the day in Gwen's company.

He wished he could do something else. Wander off with her like Raz and Ilsa always did, because they were _little_. They didn't have to do the big stuff. Climbing trees together, or sitting quietly by the river talking about meaningless things sounded far more exciting than following Morkoth through the woods on a hunt, helping carry the carcasses back, then skinning and gutting them. Yeah, they were going to suffer together, but it wasn't what he would have preferred.


	11. The Beasts We Are

A/N: OldStoneface, got a little nugget just for you. See if you can find it. :) And Helenamarkos - enjoy. :D

* * *

**The Beasts We Are**

It was the same nightmare he'd had for years, made worse by Morkoth's story so comparatively recently. If he had even a small amount of control, he'd stop it before _that point_. The point where it changed and put the question in his mind. The question with no answer.

The dream always started the same; the spiral slog down the dank steps into the bowels of Isengard, the breeding room, the whimpering and weeping, the grunting and roaring... the screaming. Remembered scents filled his nostrils, of sweat and fear, of blood and seed spilled upon the floor. Later, _Shark__û_ employed restraining tables to keep the females from fighting against their breeders, but in those days, it was a struggle on the bare floor, your fellows jeering at you if you didn't get yours down in a timely manner. Kicking you if you didn't finish before they did. It was a race; practice for raiding. The faster you could fuck in the midst of the chaos, the more cunt you got, so you were brutal, rough, and above all, fast.

Nûrzgrat was eager. He'd never done this before. The only thing he'd experienced was a cock forced up his ass in the middle of a free-for-all in the barracks. It started out a minor tussle, but didn't quite end that way. Several were like Nûrzgrat, too dominant themselves to put up with that shit from a lesser Uruk, and in less than an hour six of the offenders were dead.

He'd heard about how different it was to fuck a whiteskin female. Orc ass was no comparison, they said. Never want another once you've had a whiteskin, they said. He hadn't had _that_ either, but felt fairly sure he didn't need the comparison. Go straight to the prize. He was Fighting Uruk-hai, after all.

The female was blonde, he remembered. The blonde one with the big blue eyes, wide with terror, lips quivering with the desperate need to scream though her throat couldn't manage it. He'd looked at her without pity, without remorse. All he could think about was fucking her. That's what Master wanted him to do. What pleased Master, pleased _him_.

But Master wasn't happy with him. He took her down like he'd been instructed. He wrestled his way inside her, as he'd been told how... then he lost his mind. He didn't even remember what happened an hour later, let alone twenty-five _years_ later. The next thing he knew, he was being hauled off by _snaga_ Orcs, the female was thoroughly dead but twitching convulsively, her eyes fixed on the ceiling, her throat...

He'd bitten her throat clean through to the spine, crushing her windpipe and ripping it out entirely. He could feel the sweet blood running from his mouth, but it tasted like ashes. When he tried to piece it together later, he learned he'd succumbed too quickly to the pleasure of fucking, so the _snaga_ said. They told him it happens sometimes. They said his kind were _too_ wound up, _too_ frantically in need of it. Too desperate. And sometimes the Uruk-hai tried to possessively mark the females in the way of Orcs, as Nûrzgrat attempted in a fit of clumsy instinct.

The Uruk was never given access to the breeding pits again. He did not lament the loss of privilege. That female's face stayed with him for many years. He followed his Master's orders; he accompanied raids and raped without question when it was expected of him. No other female died by his hand in _that_ manner, at least. He'd learned his lesson well; he was faster than any, never getting lost in the fucking again. But he remembered the first, for her eyes told him what he was. Her eyes stared back at him from every female he assaulted, until he could bear it no longer and demoted himself to training the younger ones to fight.

Her eyes said _monster_.

He expected to see her again now, as his dream form descended into the earth. Ever since Morkoth's revelation, he'd been spared the decades-long reiteration of the female's death. What came instead was worse.

Now she was alive, but heavy with a whelp. Perhaps 'alive' was inaccurate. Her throat still bore the hideous wound he'd left behind, yet she was not... quite... dead. Her eyes were cold and lifeless, yet she was horribly aware.

Her eyes _still_ called him _monster_.

As with any true nightmare, Nûrzgrat would find himself standing helplessly as _Sharkû_ cut across her belly and pulled forth the bag of waters containing his whelp. _His_ whelp, he knew. It could be no other's. There was no blood in this extraction. The assessment would be made, the whelp identified as female. Nûrzgrat would panic, even knowing what came next, but he was paralyzed and unable to spare his whelp the inevitable punishment for not being the right kind of Uruk.

He would watch as _Sharkû_ glared at him with disappointment before slitting the whelp's throat. Then the wizard would hand the dead whelp to the Uruk.

To eat. And Nûrzgrat would_ eat_.

The question that plagued him whenever he bolted out of the nightmare, heaving great breaths and looking wildly around the long house, was... _would he really have done it_? Was he so completely under his Master's control in those days, that _if_ the female had survived to bear his whelp, and the whelp was female, would he have obeyed the command to consume his own youngling?

Morkoth was from a different generation, had a different bloodline, a different attitude... he was in all ways different from Nûrzgrat. It didn't surprise him that the boy defied their Master's will and took the worst whipping of his life for it. But Nûrzgrat wasn't so diluted with Man's blood as the boy. He didn't know the answer to the question, even all these years later, with _Sharkû_ dead and gone, younglings and whelps aplenty in the settlement... He still didn't know if _back then_, he would have done it.

Because he was _then_, and would always _be_, a monster.

He didn't want to see her again tonight. Even in his dreaming, he feared Brytta would somehow know what he'd done if this continued. But it was inevitable. His feet shuffled across the floor slicked with blood and semen. Shame filled him to the brim, but he could do nothing else.

It didn't register for a moment, but the female was different. When he stood in front of her, she slowly raised her head and fixed him with earthy green, dead eyes. Short dark hair framed a completely different face, but one that still bore unforgiving hatred toward him.

_Brytta... no. Not you._

The shock of seeing her in the dead woman's place broke him from the dream. He wasn't just gasping for air upon waking; he was sitting up, body soaked in icy sweat, shaking down to his toes.

Across from him, seated on a rotted log, was Brytta. A look of disgust was on her face as she stared at him.

"What're _you_ lookin' at?" he snarled as he got up. He didn't wait for an answer; he needed to piss, but more than that, he needed to get the fuck away from her for a minute and collect himself. Nûrzgrat stomped out of the little clearing.

Brytta shook her head and poked at the glowing coals of their small campfire with a stick. _He must fear me_, she thought with a small measure of satisfaction. Saying her name, _whimpering_ her name, in his sleep, as if she threatened him and he was helpless to defend himself.

Perhaps such fear would stay his hand. There was still the worry, in _her_ mind at least, that he might turn on her. Orcs, in her experience, were treacherous and cunning. Perhaps his little story last night was meant to put her off guard, gain her sympathy and trust. Make her less alert. Weaken her resolve.

Make her see him in a different way. She stubbornly refused to do so.

Several yards from camp, Nûrzgrat calmed himself. He didn't know if he could do this. Hunt down Frû on his own, yes. That wasn't the question. Enduring her nearness, her intrusion on his nightmares... Did Hengolwen invade _Frû's_ nightmares, or just figure in his dreams? Nûrzgrat had never asked. Judging by the condition Frû often woke in, and what he _did_ upon waking, he felt relatively safe in assuming the female's appearances were anything but unpleasant.

But Frû didn't have Nûrzgrat's memories.

Shaking himself and rolling the sleep stiffness from his shoulders, Nûrzgrat returned to the clearing.

"Bank it and bury it," he snapped, pointing at the firepit. "Gotta get movin' before the sun comes up."

Standing up, she appraised him for a moment, then silently did as he said. He didn't much like the look on her face, but he supposed he'd get used to it. She thought him a beast; no changing _that_.

They kept a steady pace that morning, with Nûrzgrat in the lead, nostrils flared to pick up even the barest hint of Frû's passage. Here and there, he was rewarded by a faint scent off a tree or bush. Just enough to show they were still on the right path. That Frû was still retracing the group's footsteps back to the burned out village on the border of Rohan, as Nûrzgrat knew he would.

When they took a rest at mid-day, he was grudgingly impressed by the female's strength. She was keeping up with him. Though winded, she was in no worse shape for the run than he.

Pacing to keep his legs from stiffening, Nûrzgrat cast his eyes about, watching for threats, and noticed the thin smoke trails of a settlement off in the distance toward the west. He snorted with disgust.

"Dunlending pigs," he growled. Brytta stiffened and looked where he was looking.

"How can you be certain?" she asked.

"This is Dunland," he snapped. "Stands to reason." Gesturing toward the telltale smoke, he went on, "Likely a big village, if they're letting their smoke show so openly. Better not linger in one place too long. You ready to move?"

"Yes, I am rested well enough," she replied, giving him a sour look. She felt unclean; they'd run for miles, and it had been a few days since she bathed before the bandits upset her entire world. Somehow, this Orc didn't stink as much as she knew _she_ did, and that just galled her.

Then to sarcastically inform her _Dunlendings_ could be found in _Dunland_... Bastard.

They continued on. The large village was only the first of several smaller encampments they began seeing as their trek brought them further south toward the Gap of Rohan. Not wanting to get taken off guard again, Nûrzgrat angled more closely toward the mountains, getting them deeper under the cover of the trees.

By nightfall, they had covered enough miles that Nûrzgrat felt they were gaining on the little fucker. To his satisfaction, it seemed Frû had also sought cover in his flight, for here and there he could still pick up the Uruk's scent trail.

Their camp that night was near a stream, and Brytta decided she could stand it no longer.

"I will go wash myself," she declared haughtily. "I... _trust_... you will remain here."

Glaring at her to hide the instinctive interest that peaked at her statement, he snarled, "Mind you don't drown yourself."

She gave him a withering look and marched off to the stream.

Though the water was icy cold coming down from the Misty Mountains, it was refreshing after a long day of running with few stops to rest. Still, Brytta didn't want to remain unclothed and unarmed for long with an Orc so near. She hastily stripped and waded into the water, and saw to her ablutions swiftly.

It was when she was emerging to dry herself with a blanket that she heard the twig snap. _That son of a bitch_, she flared. "I should have known you could not be trusted with even so little a thing," she hissed, turning around with the blanket clutched to her breasts.

But it wasn't Nûrzgrat standing there.

"Yuh ain't _so_ little, _tark_," the Orc leered, fingering a long blade and running his one eye up and down her form. A patch had been sewn into his face, hiding the other. "More'n a mouthful, I'd say. Bit of fun 'fore the feastin', I expect."

Her breath caught in her throat. Brytta's sword was several feet away; too far for her to grab before the Orc would be on her. And she was unclothed; more vulnerable than she had ever been in her life.

"Yeah," the Orc nodded. "Smell yer fear. That's a good smell." He took a couple of steps closer. "Think I can get more'uh that outta you?"

A much larger figure seemed to melt from the shadows behind the Orc, putting a bright Elven longsword to his throat.

"Dress yourself, Brytta," Nûrzgrat snarled. As she hastily complied, he tried not to look, but his eyes refused to obey him. He had a _snaga_ by the collar, he told himself. Couldn't let his guard down for a moment. Not even to give the female her privacy as she hastily donned breeches and a tunic.

Wonderful. Now he would have her naked body invading his nightmares and tormenting his waking thoughts as well. Just what he needed.

"This bit of cunt belong to you, then?" the Orc asked conversationally, also watching the spectacle of exposed flesh before him.

"Shut yer yap," Nûrzgrat growled. He shook the Orc for emphasis. "I'm _considerin'_ lettin' you go. Don't fuck it up."

"You should slit his throat," Brytta snapped, unsheathing her sword and advancing. "Where there is one, there are many."

"Beggin' to differ," the Orc said, then grinned. "Don't have _many_. Got _just enough_."

Another, slighter figure emerged behind Nûrzgrat, putting a sword to his neck. That was startling enough; feeling a hand come around to roughly grope his privates was completely unexpected.

"Mmm, dis half-Man got a good'un on'im," the new Orc purred. "Give a good fuckin', I'll warrant."

The scent and tone of voice put one thought into Nûrzgrat's head with stark clarity: _female_. What a way to finally meet one.

The first Orc turned his head slightly, grunting with amusement. "Makin' me jealous now, Shagal."

"Step away from him," Brytta snarled, now dressed, armed and more confident.

It didn't last. Another Orc, bigger than the first though still not as large as Nûrzgrat, came up behind Brytta and roughly disarmed her. "What we gonna do wit'em?"

"Take'em to da," the female behind Nûrzgrat said flatly. "Ain't had hisself a laugh in many a year."

* * *

"I do not know how to use this, nor do I wish to learn," Gwen snapped.

"Keep your mouth shut," Morkoth hissed. "There is a time for talking, and this is not it."

Cowed, she cringed a bit and obeyed. He was a mountain of an Orc, and though his gentle manner lulled her most of the time, she easily fell back into paralyzed terror by a simple change in his tone.

She wouldn't look at Thakûf, crouched beside her in the underbrush as the three of them waited for the deer Morkoth scented to come into view. The big Uruk could remain squatted down and utterly motionless for the longest time. Gwen and Thakûf, however, found it impossible to avoid fidgeting after a few minutes.

In her hands was a long knife. To her, it seemed a ponderous weapon. She'd never held anything so deadly or of such ill purpose in her life.

Thakûf kept trying to catch her eye, give her a sympathetic look, but she refused to indulge him. It was frustrating. They'd been up since dawn, granted only an hour, and already they'd scared away half the forest's wildlife with their clumsy tramping and stumbling around. It wasn't just her, either; Thak had done his fair share of tripping over roots and getting tangled up in his own gangly limbs. That Morkoth hadn't murdered the two of them by now was a testament to his deep well of patience.

The young Uruk worried they might reach the bottom of it by breakfast at this rate.

Taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly, Morkoth did as Sandy instructed. He counted to ten. It was the only way he was able to keep from losing his head completely and throttling the two of them. Her instructions to him were confusing and made no sense, but he trusted her completely. If she thought this would bring the two younglings together, even if only as friends, it might work.

_Give them a common enemy_, she'd said. Him, apparently. Morkoth was under orders to make it as miserable an experience as he could, so they would have something to talk about. Ways of killing _him_, he assumed.

He would have questioned the idea had Sandy not checked with Brianna and had the notion confirmed. Brie even chuckled and accused Sandy of using 'headology' on the younglings, whatever _that_ was.

Yet still, with the extra mouths to feed, only somewhat canceled out by the absence of two Uruks from the settlement, Morkoth had to bring _something_ back, and these two were like lodestones to that end.

When the deer they'd been diligently stalking for a half hour or more finally came into view, and Morkoth had leveled the crossbow at it, taking careful aim, and Gwen in her eagerness to see such a beautiful animal so close stood straight up and _cooed_, sending the beast running in a panic... the well ran dry.

"That is _enough_!" he roared, spinning around and looming over the girl like a tree about to fall. "This is serious fucking business! You wanna eat, you keep your fucking mouth _shut_! You don't break cover! You don't make a fucking sound! You shut... the fuck... _UP_!"

Eyes wide with fear, Gwen all but dissolved in a puddle on the ground. Even Thakûf was shocked; Morkoth _never_ got this mad about _anything_. He rarely swore, either.

"You two... get the fuck outta my sight," Morkoth snarled. "See if you can hunt on your own, cause you're fuckin' it up for _me_. If _I_ don't bring somethin' back, we ain't eatin' today. Yuh got that?"

Thakûf knew their dried meat stores weren't near depleted, but he wisely kept his mouth shut about that.

"Come on, Gwen," he mumbled, tempted to take her hand but resisting the urge. She retreated from the fuming giant almost eagerly.

When he was fairly sure they were out of earshot of the furious Uruk, Thakûf sagged onto a fallen tree trunk. "Ain't seen'im so mad before." Glancing up at her, he grinned. "Guess you're better at pissin' him off than I am."

Gwen glared at him. "I did not want to come. My father... hires men for this purpose. Or my mother goes to the market to buy food. _I_ do not _hunt_."

Deflating somewhat, Thak grumbled, "Ain't so bad. I just don't wanna do it." He turned the long knife, one of Ghru's used for throwing, over and over in his hands. "Everybody's gotta do their part, though. Just wish my part wasn't bein' quiet. Can't do that. Not like him, or Nûrzgrat." Grinning with admiration, he said, "Nûrzgrat coulda snuck up on that deer and had its head off before it even knew he was there."

Faltering under her grimace of disgust, he mumbled, "Sure miss Nûrzgrat. Morkoth's gettin' to sound like'im, bein' in charge all the time, but it ain't the same."

Gwen shuddered at the mention of Nûrzgrat. "He is the foulest of all of you. And that is saying a lot."

"No, he ain't," Thak said defensively. "He's the _best_ of us. You just gotta get to know'im, is all. When he comes back, then you'll see." He nodded confidently. "He's the best of us."

She cast a withering look in his direction. "How unfortunate."

Snorting with impatience, he snapped, "Well... _you_ ain't... all that... nice. Thinkin' you're better'n us."

"Because I _am_," she snapped haughtily.

"No, you _ain't_," he retorted.

"Yes, I _am_.

"No."

"Yes."

Thakûf chuckled.

"What is so funny?" Gwen asked angrily.

"Us," he replied with a slight smile. "We sound like Ilsa and Raz. Arguin' about somethin' stupid." She rolled her eyes and turned away. Thak sighed, then he paused, frowning. He sniffed the air.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"Smell that?" he said, pitching his nose in the air to get a clearer scent. "Sorta musky?"

"I smell nothing," she said dismissively.

"It's over here," he said as if she hadn't spoken. The predatory instinct of his Orcish heritage was in the forefront, and he scented prey. Dropping to a crouch and approaching warily, Thakûf slowly parted the bushes nearby. Gwen was intrigued by his change, suddenly almost graceful and self-assured, and watched in spite of herself.

A sharp hiss filled the silence, then Thakûf came hurtling backwards with a large grey-furred animal clawing at his face and neck. A scream erupted automatically from her throat.

His knife knocked from his hands, Thakûf had no choice in his defense. Nor did he have any choice in his response. Survival instincts kicked in; the very nature of Orcs as predatory mammals took over his thoughts, and he roared furiously in the badger's face. Digging his claws into the animal's flanks, he tore straight through the flesh and deep into the rib cage. Young as he was, his fingers weren't quite strong enough to break the bones, but his claws were more than capable of rending the skin and spilling intestines down the front of his shirt. Clamping his jaws over the creature's neck where the thickest muscle and most important blood ran, he pierced fur, flesh, and meat, filling his mouth with blood and his ear with the strangled death cry of his prey.

It was over in a matter of seconds, but seemed to last hours. Gwen couldn't stop screaming, and was still hysterical when Morkoth came crashing through the foliage in a fury. He stopped in his tracks when he saw the young Uruk shaking all over, blood running from his mouth, visceral smear down his front, numerous cuts and bites drawing his own black blood out to mingle with the red... and a very large, thoroughly shredded badger on the ground at his feet.

The elder Uruk slowly approached the younger and looked into the boy's twitching face. Resting a heavy hand on Thakûf's shoulder, he nodded. "You did well," he said solemnly. Morkoth's chest fairly swelled with pride, as if he had witnessed the first kill of his own son.

Seeing the approval in Morkoth's eyes, Thakûf smiled a little, though his face was difficult to control at the moment. Fear had been held at bay for a short time, and its presence, though belated, came to him in a rush. He shook himself; the blood in his mouth was tangy and sweet. It had never tasted so good, and he couldn't resist licking his lips and savoring every drop. Again, Morkoth nodded, smiling.

The sound of Gwen retching behind them intruded on the moment, and both Uruk-hai glanced at her with annoyance. Morkoth shook his head. This female was weak beyond any he had ever encountered. She was nothing like Sandy or Brie; not even as strong as her _mother_. He had no idea what to do with her.

She was in no way worthy of Thakûf, he decided. Not now, especially. Such a kill as this – bare-handed against a vicious animal the size of Ilsa – must surely mean he could be considered an adult. Morkoth would have to check with Ghru on the matter, though Nûrzgrat would be better to ask. He'd spent more time in the company of _snaga_ Orcs than any of them. The leader would know if this qualified as the proper rite of passage into adulthood.

Regardless, there was the matter of a fitting trophy. Ignoring Gwen's whimpering, Morkoth turned to Thakûf as if the girl wasn't there. "You should take its teeth. Start your own necklace." He pointed to the one he wore, laden with teeth of varying sizes and shapes.

"Yeah," Thakûf replied, nodding vigorously. He honestly never thought he would have a necklace of his own. He thought his clumsiness and ineptitude would have the prey taking trophies from _him_.

Crouching down, Morkoth held the jaw steady as Thakûf struggled to pull the longest and sharpest teeth out with shaking hands. This was part of it, so the elder Uruk patiently watched, letting the boy learn how to do it on his own.

_I'm gonna show this to Raz_, Thakûf thought happily. _He'll be **so** jealous!_

Cupping the four teeth in his hands as though they were precious gems, Thakûf couldn't take his eyes off them. Another who might be impressed was near; he turned to Gwen and held his hands out, showing her the teeth stained with his blood, a proud grin on his face.

She cringed away from him and turned aside to vomit once more. Thakûf's face fell in confusion.

Morkoth's eyes flicked between them, and he growled low. "Gwen," he said reproachfully, "had he not killed the beast, it would have attacked _you_."

Wiping the bile from her mouth, hands trembling with revulsion, she looked at the two of them and said, "That is the most vile thing I have ever seen, and I hope never to be witness to such again!" Glaring at Thakûf's stricken face, she snarled, "You are _disgusting_."


	12. The Obligatory BDSM Chapter

**The Obligatory BDSM Chapter: Bondage, Deception, Slapstick and Manhood-handling**

All Nûrzgrat could do was ram his shoulders into his captors when he felt them getting too close. The one called Shagal had an iron grip on his arm; the rope she tied around his wrists had long since made his hands numb and useless. A foul-smelling strip of cloth covered his eyes; another was tied about his mouth as a gag.

Brytta was in no better shape, but at least they hadn't done anything else to her. It boiled in his gut, the need to protect her from them. Bereft of sight, his ears pricked at every sound she made and his nose locked on her scent. She was generating such a strong stench of fear about her, he felt sick inside.

The Orcs marched them through the darkness, sometimes climbing, other times descending, until the air became cooler and their footfalls changed from leaf-muffled to the rasping sound of feet on dusty rock. He swallowed the panic welling inside him; they were going underground. He hadn't been inside the earth since leaving Isengard, and an instinctive fear of entrapment washed over him.

They sensed his worry over Brytta, he knew. There was no way he could hide it from them, and they taunted him with it by pawing at her all the way into the caves. The little terrified squeals and sobs they urged from the woman wrenched his gut, and more than once he earned himself a clubbing for lashing out at her assailants.

Worse, he realized once they were in the enclosed space of the tunnels that the strangely alluring musk he'd thought he was imagining was terrifyingly strong.

"Behave yourself, now," Shagal growled, shoving him into a rock wall so hard his head rung. "I might be nice later." Yanking him back into position, she once more made a grab for his privates. Nûrzgrat roared and jerked aside. Shagal rammed her forearm into his throat and pushed him against the wall again. Her hand slammed so hard over his member his pained grunt came out higher than usual. "Savin' it for the _tark_, are you? Don't know who yer dealin' with, half-Man. Shagal wants it, Shagal _takes_ it." She gave him a rough squeeze to drive home her point.

"Come on," the one-eyed Orc groused. "Don't need it from _him_. He ain't worth shit to nobody." A gasp from Brytta informed Nûrzgrat that she'd just been grabbed. "Now _this_..." Another shaking sob. Nûrzgrat struggled against Shagal, desperate to know what was happening. "_This_ little bit's worth her weight."

"Huh," Shagal snorted, releasing Nûrzgrat enough to let him stand on his own, but no further. "Long as I get to watch."

The one-eyed Orc snickered. "You can join in, my pet. You know I ain't gonna hold out on you for nothin'. All I got's yours."

Nûrzgrat could only growl, grunt, snort, and roar incoherently through the gag. They did it on purpose to him and not Brytta, and not because he had more offensive things to say. They undoubtedly feared his bite. He had never been above dirty fighting, employing teeth and claws when the need arose. It was the _snaga_ Orcs who taught him that, so it was no wonder he'd been robbed of his natural weapons as well when they took his sword and knife.

This was worse than any battle Brytta had ever been in. The one-eyed Orc was free with his hands on her body, roaming at will, diving between her legs at times or fondling her breasts. It seemed he knew exactly how to feed her terror, and every whimper, every sob was as music to his ears. In all her years as an Orc hunter, she'd never been captured by them. The advantage had always been hers, in every instance.

She couldn't help but feel that for every victory, there must have been a tally kept, and now it was time to pay the debt.

Her fear of such payment due was realized when the one-eyed Orc pulled her close and rasped in her ear, "Gonna enjoy every scream, _tark_. Gonna make you beg me to kill you. Where you want it first? Cunt or ass? I got no preference." Snickering, he drew his tongue up her cheek in a mockingly slow manner. A terrified scream tore from her throat as she tried to get away.

Nûrzgrat went berserk. It came on him so suddenly, _he_ wasn't even prepared, much as it had when he saw a Dunlending bearing down on Brytta. His instincts screamed _mate_ and _protect_. Using his torso as a battering ram, he knocked Shagal off-balance and aimed his head low to charge the one-eyed Orc. He couldn't see where he was going, and missed by a yard.

The other male that he had forgotten about grabbed him by the hair before Nûrzgrat collided with the opposite wall, and threw him several yards. Then the bulky _snaga_ laid into him with both feet, kicking the prone Uruk in the ribs and kidneys.

"He ain't a good boy, is he?" the one-eyed Orc remarked with a chuckle. "Reckon he's gone and claimed this little bitch, eh?"

"Likely," Shagal replied, watching with grim amusement as the _snaga_ beat on the nearly helpless Nûrzgrat with wild abandon. "All right, that's enough. Let'im up. Da won't be happy if he's dead 'fore he gets his laugh."

Nûrzgrat had taken a worse pounding before. This was nothing. He'd been taken down by a pair of Uruk-hai back in Isengard who beat him so hard he pissed and puked all over the floor. Still, he limped a bit when he was back on his feet getting shoved down the tunnel again.

Eventually, the group came to a halt in what felt like a large chamber, judging by the airflow that seemed less confined. Rough hands untied his gag and blindfold and he got his first look around.

He'd expected darkness. Orcs were well-known for their night vision. While the cavern wasn't awash in light, there were many tiny flickering flames as from candles or simple pots of oil set aflame. Shadows danced on the walls as drafts through the chamber stirred the little flames.

At the opposite end of the somewhat circular room was what resembled a throne hewn from a great boulder. Upon the throne sat an aged Orc who, quite unexpectedly, was missing one leg at the knee. Nûrzgrat was surprised; he distinctly remembered accidents in Isengard which rendered Orcs limbless, and the routine manner in which they were disposed of. To see an Orc so injured and apparently leading this small band...

The Orc was clearly ancient, even to Nûrzgrat's inexperienced eye. None of the Orcs 'employed' by his master were this bent and wrinkled. Deformed and hideous as most Orcs were, but not quite this... weathered. He sat hunched forward, one long gnarled arm leaning on his good leg while his other hand rubbed the stump at the end of his thigh as if it pained him, or perhaps out of long habit. His red eyes narrowed in a glare at Nûrzgrat in particular, it seemed.

Once the immediate shock wore off, Nûrzgrat looked at Brytta to reassure himself that she was all right. He was beyond questioning his instincts at the moment; maybe he'd chastise himself for his weakness later. Right now, she seemed none the worse for wear, though obviously terrified. She turned and met his eyes; her guard was down, revealing just how much she was relying on him. These were _his_ folk; her eyes pleaded with him to save her from them.

Even knowing he was the lesser of two evils in her mind, he gave her a short nod.

"Well now," the leader drawled slowly, his voice harsh from age. He leaned back in his seat and crossed his arms over his chest, smirking at the newcomers. He saw the look they exchanged and filed it away for the time being. "Send you out for meat and you come back with _these_. What we gonna do with'em, eh?"

Shagal pushed Nûrzgrat forward, forcing him to his knees a few yards from the leader. Like the rest of those in the hunting party, she wore hides and furs that covered her torso and left her arms and legs bare. If not for her scent, Nûrzgrat wouldn't have been able to tell she was female, so like the males did she appear. "Caught this half-Man and his _tark_ pet in our huntin' grounds, da. Thought you might like to meet'em." Grabbing a fistful of the Uruk's thick hair, she yanked his head back so the patriarch could see his face better.

"What use is one'uh them Isengarders, eh?" he snapped. Nûrzgrat started. "Aye, old Barash knows what you are, yuh bastard. Always hearin' things 'bout you lot. None of'em good."

"Got a good cock on'im," Shagal pointed out. Her father snorted and chuckled.

"Do whatcha like, but don't kill'im," he said, waving a dismissive hand. "Leave the _tark_ here. Got a bit of... an interest."

"Come along, you," Shagal snarled, hauling Nûrzgrat to his feet and yanking him toward a side tunnel. He cast one last look back at Brytta's horrified face, holding her gaze until rock walls tore her from his sight. Trying once more to free himself, he endured another crunching collision with stone against his skull, then staggered along in a daze.

"Hey, now!" the one-eyed Orc protested angrily. "Barash!"

The old Orc laughed harder. "You wanna say somethin', Fulak, yuh better run. That gal's in season and she ain't likely to remember your claim. He's somethin' different; she always did like that shit."

"Fuck," Fulak muttered, stomping after the departing Orcess and the now desperately protesting Uruk. "Bring her fresh kills, tan her hides, sharpen up her blades, fuck her senseless, and it _still_ ain't never enough..."

Barash chuckled with amusement at his daughter's suitor, then turned his attention to the whiteskin. Before he could say a word, however, his mate stormed into the chamber. She was older and more shriveled than the leader, her skin sagging on her exposed arms and legs, yet she radiated an aura of authority that even Brytta recognized and instinctively respected. Like the males, she was bent and hairless, her bald pate marred by scars. Her long, sharply-pointed ears bore multiple piercings, and not just of metal rings; there were one or two animal bones thrust through the thin tissue near the ends as well.

Despite her clearly advanced age, she did not appear remotely fragile.

"Yer whelp's gone and fucked up again, ain't she?" the female shrieked. "Shaataz done told me she brought..." Her gaze locked on Brytta, standing in the shadow of the other male from the hunting party, too terrified to move or say anything. Her shield, her one chance of surviving this, had just been hauled off to endure who knew what tortures. Her turn was likely coming; it was very difficult to find the courage she'd always had when facing Orcs before.

She'd had a sword then. She'd had fellows at her side. She'd been assured a victory.

"A _tark_," the Orc woman hissed. "That Shagal. Takin' after _you_, I expect." Barash just shrugged, giving the female what looked to Brytta's startled eyes like an affectionate wink.

"We done blindfolded'em," the male pointed out, waving the soiled cloth for emphasis. "Didn't see nothin'."

"Don't you go defendin'er, Burbur," the matriarch barked, and he immediately shut up and retreated a step, thoroughly chastised. Stepping up close to Brytta, she looked the woman over. _Sniffed_ her. Then she snorted and went to Barash's side.

"Don't see no half-Man," she snapped. "Don't smell'im all over her, neither. Tell me _that_ was just Shaataz seein' things again."

Barash grinned. "Akhûna my _shaûk,_ your girl ain't seein' things. Shagal dragged back one'uh them Isengarder half-Men. Now she's off fuckin' the shit outta him, if she can manage it. Yuh know how she is."

Akhûna rolled her eyes. "Takin' after _you_, yuh filthy sod."

Brytta started in a panic. Her protector in this vile place was off having a tryst while she faced her doom among his people! What a fool she'd been to ever believe...

Barash's boisterous laughter interrupted her thoughts. "Won't get far with that," he chuckled when his mirth subsided somewhat. "Fulak's gone along. Yuh know he won't stand for that shit."

Snorting with little interest, Akhûna turned and glowered at Brytta. The woman could see almost every malicious thought passing through the Orcess's mind as if words were etched into her rough skin.

"See this?" she suddenly said, sweeping her arms to encompass the chamber and the tunnels beyond. "_This_ is all we got left."

Blinking, Brytta could only stare at the matriarch. She honestly hadn't expected them to engage her in conversation.

Curling her lip with clear disgust, Akhûna snarled, "We been pushed until we can't go nowhere else but in the ground. Never seems to be deep enough to please you fuckin' _tarks_." Beginning to pace, she kept shooting hostile looks at the whiteskin in her home. "I can't tell yuh how many pups I've lost, trying to find someplace where there ain't no _tarks_ slaughtering us."

A tiny spark of indignation flared in Brytta. She'd seen many instances where Orcs had shown no mercy to her people. Before prudence could still her tongue, she said angrily, "It is not just _us_ killing you and your young. You kill _us_ as well."

Akhûna raised an eyebrow at the woman's cheek, but nodded, conceding the point. "Yes. We do. But we _stopped_. You _didn't_."

"When did you 'stop'?" Brytta snapped, all caution thrown to the winds at what she believed a bald-faced lie.

"When the Dark Lord fell," Akhûna said quietly, "and the Shadow died. It died in _all_ of us. Our minds became our own. We _could_ have looked upon you without hate, for the first time in thousands of years. _But you would not let us. _And so here we are."

Brytta looked away, shame coloring her cheeks. She hoped the relative darkness of the caves hid her embarrassment. She'd never questioned, never protested, never even _imagined_... Had there really been a window of opportunity when Men and Orcs could have found peaceful accord as the Rohirrim and Dunlending folk had? Was that opportunity now lost?

It surprised her that she'd even ponder such a notion now, when in the past she never attributed anything like intelligent thought to Orc-kind, much less gave them the simple consideration of having lives beyond the battlefront.

"Yuh know," Barash said, amusement still crinkling the dark skin around his eyes. He'd lived with it long enough to recognize it when he saw it in another, and the fact that he was seeing it in a filthy bastard of an Isengarder filled him with satisfaction. "That half-Man is bonded to yuh."

The silence that followed the patriarch's statement could have been cut with a knife.

* * *

Nûrzgrat could barely keep his feet under him as Shagal dragged him down the tunnel, snickering all the way. He could hear the panting breaths as the one-eyed Orc trotted to catch them up.

"Now wait a second, Shagal," Fulak protested. "I know I ain't got much say in what yuh do..."

"No, yuh don't," the female snapped. A side chamber opened up off the tunnel, and she roughly shoved Nûrzgrat inside. His wrists still bound behind him, he wasn't able to regain his balance and toppled over. Then the Orcess was on him.

Her hands seemed to be everywhere at once as he tried to thwart her. First they were fumbling at the laces of his breeches, then they were briefly strangling him, banging his head on the ground to take the fight out of him. Once or twice she punched him in the jaw so hard he saw stars. All the while, he roared expletives in Westron and Orcish, kicked at her with his legs hard enough to break bones, squirmed out of her grip the best he could...

"Don't fight me, yuh sum'bitch," she growled after taking his forehead to her chin. She punched him again, which only served to put her arm within striking range. His jaw clamped down on her wrist and he dug his teeth in. "Like it rough, do yuh?" she grinned, and Nûrzgrat realized her hand was on him again, only this time his traitorous cock was stiffening.

"Get the fuck off me!" he roared, bucking harder. He hadn't had to pitch a lust-crazed Uruk off him in decades, certainly never a female. His time in Sandy and Brie's company had taught him to treat females with deference and gentleness, but _this_ female was sorely in need of a vigorous ass-kicking.

"That's enough'uh that," Fulak roared, and now _he_ joined the fray, trying to pry his female off the Uruk. Fulak had spent several summers trying to urge Shagal to bond with him; he wasn't letting this half-Man piece of shit grab her attention.

Nûrzgrat was on the bottom of a pile of Orcs, it seemed, with no respite in sight. The female wanted his pants off and a round with his cock; the male seemed to be dividing his attention between keeping that from happening, and satisfying Shagal's apparently violent desire to mate with his own advances. One yanked at his clothes, the other pounded the hell out of him. He was no longer sure which one was doing what, and wondered if he'd come out of it with Fulak's cock in _his_ ass by accident.

He didn't know why he was fighting so hard against this female who, in spite of ridiculing his making and looking at him with disdain, seemed to want him. All he knew, whether he understood why or not, was that he couldn't let it happen. There was nothing more important than keeping his cock from getting inside Shagal.

Quite suddenly, a roar filled the chamber, drowning out the frenzied grunting and swearing. Fulak found himself yanked up by the hair and punched in the face; Shagal got shoved into the wall and kicked in the gut. Then the newcomer grabbed the dazed Nûrzgrat by the shirtfront and hauled him into a sitting position.

It was another female, the expression on her face entirely different from Shagal's.

"What happened to Isengard?" she cried desperately. "_What_ _happened_? What did the trees do? Did anybody else get out?"

Gasping for air, Nûrzgrat tried to steady himself and respond. "I don't know," he growled. "Just me and a handful got out through the back tunnels. Don't know about anybody else."

Her face crumpled as if tears were not far below the surface. She looked like she'd wanted him to say something else, and what he _did_ say gave her no comfort.

* * *

"What?" Brytta finally managed to gasp.

Barash smirked, leaning back on his rough-hewn throne. "You don't know it. That's even better." Drawing a deep breath as if the scent of her shock were much more satisfying than her fear, he nodded. "He is."

"How?" she asked incredulously.

Shrugging, the patriarch said, "Don't know. See, an Orc can decide. Let the bond take hold, or not." Gazing fondly at Akhûna, he smiled. "Best if yuh both let it happen, of course. Stupid ass Fulak thought he didn't have to wait and see with Shagal, and now he's stuck." Barash wheezed with laughter. "Lucky him that gal'll fuck anything that moves. He don't have to worry 'bout the matin' part."

"We can feel it comin'," Akhûna added. "Can back off if we don't want it. Cause it ain't somethin' to take lightly. All I've heard'uh these half-Men... they ain't got the choice."

Grunting a laugh, Barash nodded. "_You're_ kinda stuck, _aintcha_?"

All Brytta could think about was the fear in everyone's mind for what Fru, bonded to Hengolwen, would do once he got a hold of her.

But Nûrzgrat hadn't done _anything_ to indicate he had the same foul obsession with _her_. Shaking herself, she took a deep breath and glared at the two Orcs.

"You lie," she snarled.

Barash arched his brow and snorted. "Because it comes from an Orc, it's a lie. Is that it? Whiteskins. Never understood you." Leaning forward, he snarled, "Ask him. If you don't believe me, trust an Isengarder. They ain't liars. Not a damn one of'em."

It was a strange thing to say of one he otherwise disdained, but Brytta brushed that off. "I just might," she hissed.

"You ain't gettin' rid of him," Akhûna said quietly, her glee at Brytta's expense apparent, "no matter how far you run. He'll chase you down."

The Orcess's tone and expression made Brytta falter. A thread of doubt ran through her. "Why are you telling me this?"

Barash chuckled. "Cause it's _funny_. If he was a proper Orc, he'd have had you by now. Guess it's that Man's blood ruinin' him. Makin' him give a fuck what _you_ gotta say on the matter. Proper Orc wouldn't've let hisself get bonded to a stinkin' whiteskin in the first place, but if he was a stupid fuckwit, he'd've just taken yuh, anytime he wanted. 'Specially one'uh them Isengarders."

"Kraibûf's mate was out there," Akhûna said, nodding and smirking. "Said them half-Men come out wantin' to fuck. Every minute of every day, they're in the rut." She narrowed her eyes at Brytta. "He ain't been on yuh?"

The woman shook her head, horror and fear building. This couldn't _possibly_ be true. She _willed_ it to be a lie. Desperately demanded it to be false.

Akhûna spat on the floor. "Tainted. Ain't a proper Orc." Glaring at her mate, she snarled, "Yuh better hope Shagal don't whelp for him. Don't want that filth runnin' round my den."

Shrugging, Barash appraised Brytta. "Look at you. Yuh see it now, dontcha? He'll hound yuh til he dies." The one-legged Orc paused to laugh. "I get to watch you tremble in fear this night. I get to see _him_ weep with despair. For that alone, I'll let yuh live. Send you on your way knowing that every time he looks at you, with that fucking Man's blood keepin' him from touchin' yuh, hopin' every day you'll come to him on your own... Maybe he'll hold out, maybe he won't. Maybe he'll kill yuh, maybe kill hisself. Likely lose his head and fuck yuh raw, then 'pologize like a stinkin' whiteskin filth. Beg yuh to forgive him. Then he'll do it again. And again." He halted once more, lost in the delicious thought. "That shall warm me through the winter months."

"And _I_ shall be warmed by the thought of you running," Akhûna added with a sneer, "and running, and running..."

Stricken, Brytta could say nothing. The Orcs' laughter echoed down the tunnels.

* * *

A measure of calm settled in the side chamber, giving Nûrzgrat a moment to catch his breath. The female looked lost, unsure what to do. She slid to the floor and was sitting in front of him, staring at nothing. Shagal and Fulak didn't appear inclined to continue their assault on the Uruk, nor disturb the obvious dismay in the female.

The newcomer was clearly younger than the others, for her features were not so ravaged by war and hardship. She might even have been... slightly... attractive, were the circumstances different, and Nûrzgrat had not already been claimed.

Finally, she raised her eyes to Nûrzgrat's. "Why... why did it happen?"

"Because," he replied, his voice a quiet rumble, "we're Orcs. Nobody likes us much."

Shagal eyed Nûrzgrat as if something just occurred to her. "Eh. Half-man. Whatchou been doin'? Since the Fall?"

There was no need to ask what she meant. All knew it as the day the Shadow died, and the Orcs woke up.

"We ran," he said simply, shrugging a little. "West."

Shagal and Fulak exchanged glances, then curled their lips at the Uruk. "Why would you _run_, yuh coward?" Fulak snarled.

"We ain't cowards!" Nûrzgrat barked, glaring hotly at the male Orc. "We're Fighting Uruk-hai!"

"But yuh ran," Shagal sneered. "Seems to me like a coward's way."

Fuming, Nûrzgrat growled a warning, then hissed, "We were all that was left, bitch. Weren't no more. Weren't gonna _be_ no more. There was a big battle right before, and not a fucking one came back. Then the trees flooded the valley to finish off the rest of us. If we went east, it'd be the end of the Uruk-hai. We're the _last_." Looking away, he tried not to care what they thought of him or his clan, but it was a worry he'd always had. Was their reason good enough? Or were they, in fact, cowards? Frû had called them that once, he remembered, when they heard the Dark Lord's call and chose to ignore it. "Weren't _afraid_," he muttered. "Just... savin' the last of us."

Fulak sighed and nodded. "I can understand that," he said quietly. "You lot were made special, weren't yuh?"

Snorting bitterly, Nûrzgrat growled, "Yeah. 'Special.'"

"Hmph," Shagal grunted. "How many females yuh save, eh? Or did yuh let'em all die cause they weren't no use?" Glancing at the other female, she sneered, "Heard things about yuh, I did."

Nûrzgrat flinched. He didn't want to say anything more about it to anyone, least of all these Orcs. What he knew of Orc females was being verified in their presence, and he knew that the kind of butchery practiced in Isengard would not be met with anything short of fury.

He needn't have worried. The other female answered for him.

"There weren't none," she said quietly, her voice flat and empty.

As expected, Shagal started and narrowed her eyes at the female. "Whattaya mean, 'there weren't none'?"

Fulak chuckled. "Kraibûf's talkin' out'er ass. Everybody knows the Orcs carted in to serve the Hand weren't allowed to bring their mates in."

"My mate told me!" Kraibûf snapped. "Nausaar told me." She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment and bit her lip hard enough to draw blood. "Nausaar told me," she whispered.

"I ain't never heard this," Shagal snarled. "Why didn't he let the mates in, eh?"

Kraibûf looked up at Shagal. "He didn't want the Uruk-hai to see us."

"Why not?" Shagal asked, confused.

"Two reasons," Kraibûf shrugged. "They wanna fuck all the time. Woulda spent every minute fucking us, and we woulda spent every minute droppin' their whelps. Their Master didn't want too many of'em. Just enough."

"Why would he not want'em breedin'?" she asked.

"So he could order us around," Nûrzgrat snarled. "Had his fucking Voice in our heads all the time." He paused and thought about it for a moment. "Suppose... if we got to be too many, he'd have a time of it keepin' us all under control."

Fulak frowned. "You mean... somethin' other than the Dark Lord? Yuh had this Master's Voice in yer heads too?"

Nûrzgrat nodded. "Yeah. Lost _Shark__û_'s Voice first, then the Fall, and... that last whisper just sorta... stopped."

They all sat quietly, remembering that day. Nûrzgrat had blacked out for a few hours and woke with a hell of a headache. The degree of impact lessened the younger the Uruk, because each subsequent generation of Uruk-hai was less Orcish. The younglings, Raz and Thak, only got a little nauseous.

Shaking herself, Shagal said, "Yuh said there were two reasons. What's the other one?"

"Their Master didn't want'em seeing how yuh treat a mate," Kraibûf explained. "Didn't want'em thinkin' they could even _have_ one. He made'em to fight his war. Not to survive it."

It was hard hearing her words, even if Nûrzgrat always suspected it was true. For Shagal, the idea was beyond her comprehension.

"That still don't make sense," she snapped. "If they don't have _mates_, they got no young. No stomach for fightin'. No _reasons_ to. No _purpose_."

Bowing his head in shame, Nûrzgrat growled quietly, "Cause if we knew how to treat a female... of any kind... we wouldn't be... monsters to all of'em."

"How were you made, then?" Shagal asked, narrowing her eyes.

Again, Nûrzgrat found he couldn't say anything, and Kraibûf filled in the silence.

"They're bred to _tark_ females," she supplied. "The whelps are taken out early and put in the ground. Their Master does some witchery on'em, and they grow fast."

"Ain't there females from that?" Shagal said.

Kraibûf nodded, and said, "Their Master didn't want'em. So he'd butcher'em and feed'em to the Uruk what made'em. So's they wouldn't make another, I expect."

Shagal's expression hardened, and she slowly turned her malevolent glare on Nûrzgrat. Snarling, he lifted his chin defiantly.

"Don't look at me like that," he growled. "Ain't my fucking fault. I didn't even know until a year ago that it was goin' on. So don't you _fucking_ look at me like that!"

It was fortunate for them Nûrzgrat's hands were still bound tightly behind his back, or he would have launched himself at them. But all he could do was tremble in impotent fury.

Fulak snorted. "Dark Lord wouldn't've done that. Don't matter if yuh got tits or not. If you can walk, yuh serve."

Sneering, Nûrzgrat barked, "Were you treated so much better? You still served, whether you wanted to or not."

"Yes, but we _all_ served," Shagal snapped. "_Equally_. That's as it _should_ be."

Nûrzgrat shook his head. "Ain't how it was. Not for us."

"So where does this whiteskin fit in, eh?" Fulak asked, leaning back against the rock wall and stretching out his legs. "She belong to you? Get a little fuck once in awhile from'er?"

Glaring coldly at the one-eyed Orc, Nûrzgrat snarled, "No. I'm stuck with her fuckin' ass. We're chasin' after one'uh my clanmates. Fuckwit took off."

"So?" Fulak shrugged.

Suddenly uncomfortable, Nûrzgrat muttered, "He... bonded to a whiteskin. Finally slipped the yoke and ran after her. Tryin' to get to him before he gets to _her_."

Fulak shrugged. "Why would yuh want to? So what if he gets a hold of her?"

"I _promised_," Nûrzgrat snarled. "I swore I wouldn't let him get loose and go after her."

Taken aback, Shagal said, "_Who'd_ you promise? The _whiteskin_?" A low growl rumbled out of Nûrzgrat, but he didn't say anything else. Shagal barked with laughter. "So now you're makin' promises to whiteskins, eh?"

"Ah yeah," Fulak nodded with realization. "Dunlending scum. Your Master had a load of'em in his pocket."

Bristling, Nûrzgrat snapped, "Ain't one'uh them. About all I'd promise a Dunlending is a slow skinning."

"Who, then?" the one-eyed Orc asked.

"Rohirrim."

"Them yellow-hairs to the south?" Fulak said incredulously. "How the fuck did you get in good enough with one'uh _them_ that you could swear an oath that you'd actually wanna keep? What the fuck brought that on?"

Flicking his eyes between Shagal's disgusted face and Fulak's revolted one, he sat up as straight and proud as he could under the circumstances. "My band found a village gettin' raided by them Dunlendings. We went in and killed'em all. While we were at it," he snarled defiantly, "we saved a bunch of Rohirrim females and young."

"You _saved_ them," Shagal repeated as if unsure what she'd just heard. "Not for _eating_, I expect?"

Nûrzgrat glared at her. "No, not for eating."

Fulak snorted derisively and shook his head. "Half-man. Don't know where the fuck yer loyalties lie."

Curling his lip, Nûrzgrat growled, "I know where they lie."

"So your clanmate bonded to one'uh them females, did he?" Fulak asked mildly, unimpressed by Nûrzgrat's restrained posturing. He purposely sat enough apart from the Uruk not to be within striking distance. "You dragged him off, and now he's run back. That about right?"

"Yeah, somethin' like that," Nûrzgrat grumbled.

There was a pregnant pause as Fulak thought about what was said, then frowned. "None'uh that explains the whiteskin. She ain't one'uh them yellow-hairs. Where's she come in?"

"I ain't tellin' you all my secrets," Nûrzgrat sneered.

"It's a secret now, eh?" Shagal said, unsheathing her knife and running her thumb across the blade to test its sharpness. "I could get it outta yuh."

Narrowing his eyes at her, Nûrzgrat hissed, "Why don't you fuckin' try?"

"Now, now," Fulak said with amusement. "Barash said not to kill yuh, but he ain't said one way or another if we can cut yuh or not. Ain't said nothin' 'bout lettin' us tear your arms off, neither. So watch that mouth'uh yours."

"What were you doin', then?" Nûrzgrat snapped, glaring at both in turn.

Fulak shrugged good-naturedly. "Oh, Shagal was gonna fuck you. I was just tryin' to get her to stop. She oughta be fuckin' _me_, not you. You ain't worth a puddle of piss, _half-Man_."

"Thanks for sparin' me her cunt," Nûrzgrat growled sarcastically.

"I wouldn't have you now anyway," Shagal snarled. "I'm on to yuh. If you lot wanna fuck all the time, and there ain't no females...," Shagal said with a smirk. "That's why yuh fought me. Wouldja change yer mind if Fulak went after yuh?"

Bristling, Nûrzgrat readied a scathing retort for launch, but Fulak interrupted.

"Nah," the Orc said, shaking his head. "Don't want me neither. Wants his _whiteskin_. Didn't you see it? Stupid bastard's gone and bonded to her."

"You're just as sick as that other fuck in your clan," Shagal growled in disgust.

"Weren't nothin' I could do about it," Nûrzgrat snapped defensively.

Shagal glanced at Fulak. Both were bewildered by the Uruk's admission. "Whatchou mean, 'nothin' you could do'? Orcs got a choice, yuh fuckwit."

"He ain't no Orc, though," Fulak pointed out. "He's half-Man, and that probably fucks it up."

Nûrzgrat was startled into speechlessness for a moment, but finally rallied. "Orcs got a choice? How?"

"Yeah," Fulak replied. "We can feel it comin'. Avoid it if we don't want it." Gesturing to Shagal, he added, "This one's been fightin' it for years. She'll come around eventually."

"Hmph," Shagal grunted, but her expression softened somewhat. "And end up like Kraibûf here? Nah. That ain't the life I want."

Rolling his eyes at the familiar argument, Fulak shook his head with exasperation. "I ain't dead yet."

Nûrzgrat looked over at Kraibûf, sitting sullenly apart from the rest of them. He realized now that this must be what it was like when one half of a bonded pair was lost. She looked utterly bereft, as if she'd been torn asunder. Shuddering, he caught Fulak's eyes and asked desperately, "Don't it go away?"

The one-eyed Orc burst into laughter that betrayed a hint of bitterness. "No, it don't 'go away.' Not on its own." Gesturing to Kraibûf, he said, "It don't go away when the one yer bonded to dies, neither. Only thing that makes it stop is when _you_ do. Gotta kill yerself if yuh wanna break the bond." Smirking at Nûrzgrat, he said gleefully, "Oh, the pain yer gonna be in! You'll only want her, nobody else'll do. You'll go mad, wantin' to fuck that female every which way, and not bein' able to do it..."

Shagal looked at Fulak as if he'd gone addle-brained. "Stupid head, how's he _not_ gonna fuck the shit outta her any time he wants?"

"_Look_ at the piece of shit!" Fulak cried, pointing at the stricken Uruk. "Dumbass's got too much _Man's blood_ in'im. He's _all_ fucked up. Thinks he's gotta get her _permission_. _I_ didn't smell him all over her; _you_ didn't smell him. Must be holdin' it back." Leaning forward, Fulak smirked at Nûrzgrat. "Keep buryin' it, half-Man. Push it back, deny it all yuh want. Thing about dammin' up a river is that dam's gonna bust sooner or later. And when it does... it's fuck-the-bitch-bloody time!"


	13. The Ways of Orcs and Men

**The Ways of Orcs and Men**

The hunting party that returned to the settlement that morning, far earlier than usual, had the look of a defeated warband, not a group of hunters who had successfully brought down some game. Morkoth bore the carcass of a deer over his shoulders and Thakûf's arms were filled with dead badger. Gwen appeared ill. Sandy rose from her seat at the central firepit, her son clinging to her leg where he'd grabbed on to steady his wobbly knees.

Noticing the state Thakûf was in, Sandy swiftly scooped up Ashmau and hustled to the woebegone young Uruk.

"Oh my god, what the hell happened?" she cried, stopping in front of the bloodied boy. His face and neck appeared to have taken the worst punishment, with particularly deep gouges at the base of his throat from the hind claws. A still-bleeding ear was missing a chunk of flesh up near the pointed tip. Bites on his face, claw marks on his neck... Glancing down at the blood-soaked furball in Thakûf's arms, Sandy was relieved to see the badger got the worst of the fight.

Morkoth let the deer slide off and fall to the ground, then shot a disgusted look at Gwen before answering. "First kill," he said simply, dropping a proud hand on Thakûf's shoulder. "Bare-handed."

It was a testament to the years she'd spent in the company of Orcs that this news was met with enthusiasm rather than confused disinterest or revulsion. Ignoring the mess on his clothes, the blood on his skin, and the gorey bundle in his arms, Sandy shifted her boy to her hip and gathered Thakûf in a one-armed hug. "I am _so proud of you_," she gushed, squeezing tightly. Pulling back a bit, she appraised him. Her approval seemed to have lifted his spirits somewhat, and a smile began to take root. "I swear to god, you've grown an inch since you left this morning."

Ducking his head to hide his broadening smile and embarrassed blush, Thakûf shrugged a little.

"Did you get some teeth?" Sandy said, and Thakûf juggled the corpse a bit so he could show her the fistful of blood-blackened incisors. "Those are beautiful, Thak. We'll have to drill holes so you can string them. Oh my god," she said again, and pulled him into another fierce hug. "You're growing up so fast, right before my eyes."

Gwen could only stare. Obviously, Sandy hadn't actually _seen_...

"Do not make such a fuss," Morkoth said lightly, yet his own pride was apparent.

"At _least_ let me clean him up," Sandy said. "I don't want these bites getting infected." Catching Morkoth's narrowed eyes, she huffed impatiently. "I _promise_ I won't stitch them; he can keep his battle scars."

"Ghru in his hut?" the tall Uruk asked. Sandy nodded as she headed in that direction to fetch her supplies. Morkoth looked at Thakûf and smiled. "I will tell Ghru of this. And Nûrzgrat, when he returns."

Pausing at the door to Ghru's house, she turned and said, "He'll be _so_ proud. He's gonna bust a gut, I swear." Grinning, she disappeared inside.

In moments, Sandy came out again with her basket, but not alone; Faelur and Ghru, cradling his daughter, followed her. Morkoth intercepted Ghru and gave him a quick, quiet run-down of the kill. Though their voices were too low-pitched to be heard, Ghru was clearly impressed, and cast an approving look at the young Uruk. Thakûf swelled a little, put his shoulders back a bit, held his chin higher.

Faelur took one look at Thakûf and nearly sprinted to his daughter. "Are you all right?" he urgently asked, looking her over.

Slight discomfort assailed Gwen for a moment. She literally had no marks upon her; not even a sweat stain. The Orc was the one who looked to have been mauled. Which he was. A frown creased her forehead. "I'm... fine. A bit nauseous, but... fine."

Sandy glanced up from cleaning Thakûf's face and gave her a sympathetic look. "Judging by the state of the badger, I'll bet it was a doozy of a fight. You've probably never seen anything like it, have you?"

Recovering herself, Gwen huffed a little, though there was little conviction in it. "Of course not. I've not even seen the dogs go after a weasel in the chicken coop."

"I should say not," Faelur agreed. "There is no reason to expose the poor girl to such things." Turning on Sandy, he snarled, "How _dare_ you send her into the wilderness with _Orcs_! Had I known she would be unescorted..."

Leaping to her feet, Sandy shot back, "_'Unescorted'_? What the hell would you call Morkoth?"

"He is an _Orc_!" the man snapped.

"He's an _adult_," she corrected. "Back where _I_ come from, that's what 'escorted' means."

"I had hoped _you_ would be there at _least_," Faelur protested. While he didn't credit the women with much, their presence seemed to be all that kept these beasts in check.

Sandy exploded. "_Me_? What the hell? Like I don't already have enough to do around here between nursing _two_ children and making sure what food they bring in is properly stored! Never mind having to tiptoe around _my own home_ so I don't _offend_ you or your family."

"You have done a poor job of _not_ offending us!" Faelur retorted. "Flaunting your... ways, using coarse language, allowing _that Orc_ to accompany my daughter _unescorted_ into the woods where he _likely_ would have committed some mischief upon her person..."

"You did _not_ just go there," Sandy hissed in a fury, shoving Ashmau into Morkoth's startled arms and rounding on Faelur. Rolling up her sleeves, she got right up in his business. "Don't you _dare_... don't you _fucking dare_..."

Faelur stood frozen in the face of such rage. Her eyes flashed, her nostrils flared, her teeth were gritted and bared, her fists clenched and rising... She looked to be preparing to attack him. He'd frankly never seen a woman so appallingly... forceful. His fists clenched. Someone should put this woman in her place...

His eyes flicked to the tall Orc holding the woman's hideous infant, and swallowed his urge to silence her. The beast would likely make short work of him if he made any move upon this unacceptably out of control woman.

"It's... it's okay, Sandy," Thakûf said a little nervously, eyes darting between the two whiteskins. "He... he don't know me, is all. I'm, uh... I'm just... just an Orc... to him." He ducked his head to hide the pained look on his face. "Not his fault, really."

Dialing back gradually, yet unable to take her furious eyes off Faelur, Sandy growled, "That's no excuse, Thak, and he knows it."

Faelur drew a shuddering breath; he'd actually been close to actually raising his hand against a woman for a moment. It was trial enough being in an Orc settlement without having to deal with the additional aberration of a woman who clearly didn't know her place. Had Sandy been so long in the company of bloodthirsty Orcs that she could no longer be gentle and soft, as was proper? Did that mean his daughter would be similarly afflicted?

"I will not allow my daughter to be taken on these... 'hunting' trips without my express permission," Faelur said tightly. "Nor will I allow her to be present when... game is dressed."

Sandy could feel a 'fuck you' coming on, and fought to suppress it. They were, she reminded herself, discussing this man's daughter. He had every right to protect her. But she drew the line at 'allow' when it came to the sixteen and up crowd in a world that married its daughters off at twelve.

"She's not a _child_," Sandy snapped. "She doesn't need to be sheltered from reality. We are in a small clearing in the middle of no-fucking-where, there are _no_ markets, _no_ traveling merchants, _no_ farms for _miles_. If we don't hunt it or gather it, we _starve_. If she doesn't want to hunt _because it makes her sick_, or doesn't want to dress game _because it makes her sick_, then I'll accept that. But I am _not_ standing here listening to you spout your 'I will not allow her' _bullshit_ when she's damned old enough to make her _own_ decisions."

"She is _my daughter_..." Faelur flared, and Sandy cut him off abruptly.

"She is a _woman_ and can make her _own decisions_," Sandy barked with finality. "Now kindly shut the _hell_ up." Turning to Gwen, she said, "I need to boil water for the afternoon meal. Can you help me with these pots?"

Startled, Gwen just nodded quickly and followed Sandy's brisk steps out of the camp and down to the river.

Faelur stood in the middle of the settlement feeling quite like he'd just had his ass handed to him. It was no help that both Morkoth and Ghru were fighting so hard to hide their amusement that they had to clear their throats a few times.

* * *

At the riverbank, filling the pots took mere moments, but Sandy sat on the leafy ground and patted the spot next to her, inviting Gwen to join her.

"I want to apologize for that," Sandy said a little sheepishly once Gwen was comfortable. "I swear, I can smell a chauvinist a mile off, and your dad..." She shook her head. "I haven't come across a stink that bad in a long time."

Gwen frowned with confusion. Before she could ask, Sandy smiled wanly. "I mean he doesn't respect women. At least not in the way I'm used to." Patting the girl's knee, she said, "I'll cool off, he'll cool off, we'll reach some sort of truce, and it'll all be okay. Don't worry."

A shy smile found its way to Gwen's mouth. "I have not seen anyone stand up to father. Except my mother, of course. He can deny her nothing."

"Well, I'll believe that when I see it," Sandy replied. "So... first time hunting, huh?"

Gwen shuddered. "It was disgusting. And... terrifying. He tore that animal _apart_. With his _bare_ _hands_. He tore it with his teeth and drank its blood." She hugged herself tightly and squeezed her eyes shut.

Sighing, Sandy nodded. "I know that... you don't want to face it, but... Thakûf _is_ an Orc. Maybe he doesn't want to be, but he is."

"He doesn't _want_ to be?" Gwen asked, startled.

"No, he doesn't. He really wishes he was a Man. But he's _not_. He's _part_ Man, but... Well, I've found that, as diluted as he is, the Orc is still dominant. It does come out at times. Obviously, it came out when he was on the hunt."

"He seemed... different," Gwen remembered. "He is so clumsy and awkward... but when he smelled that badger..." She cringed with revulsion. There was so much blood...

"Gwen, Orcs are predators," Sandy said gently. "What he did was extremely brave, and very important. It's a rite of passage into adulthood, rather like... oh, a period is for a woman, I suppose."

Gwen frowned. "Period?"

Exasperated, Sandy fished around in her memory. "What the heck is it called here? You know, when we bleed."

"Oh! I have heard it called many things," Gwen offered. "I rather like moontime. Is that what you mean?"

"Yeah, that'll do. That event, basically, ushered us into womanhood," Sandy explained. "Boys don't bleed, the rotten bastards, so they have to get ushered in other ways." She smiled as Gwen giggled at her words. "One of those ways is to make a first kill on a hunt. That's what Thakûf did, so he can be considered an adult now."

Shifting uncomfortably, Gwen's brow creased with worry. Sandy watched her expression change and said, "Are you okay?"

"You say he... he is an adult now," Gwen said in a small voice. "Does this mean... he will... want... a companion? Such as you are with Morkoth?"

"Possibly," Sandy said carefully. "Eventually. Right now, I think he just wants a friend."

Gwen looked up and searched Sandy's eyes. "I thought... you wanted me to... with him..."

Sandy shook her head briskly. "No, not at all. Good god, no. Whatever gave you _that_ impression?"

"Well, you said you wanted us to be together..."

"_Talk_ together," Sandy interjected. Rubbing her face with frustration and embarrassment, she said, "Son of a... I am _so_ sorry if you thought that, Gwen. Really. I'm not at all trying to get you and Thakûf into bed together or anything like that. I _swear_."

Blushing hotly at Sandy's forthright statement, Gwen nonetheless felt herself relaxing by degrees.

"You know," Sandy said with a slight chuckle, "Brie and I were in the same boat when we... fell in with them, so to speak. They were actually openly discussing breeding with us within minutes of our arrival. Scared the living shit out of both of us." Offering the wide-eyed girl a wry smile, she continued, "At least there weren't kids running around at the time, if you don't count Raz and Thak. Ash and Hontor sort of throw it in your face every day, don't they?"

Gwen nodded. "They are beautiful," she quickly insisted, "but... I do not think I want... At least, I..."

"It's okay," Sandy said. "I'm not offended. Orcs are... well, an acquired taste, I suppose. Just because you're here doesn't mean you're expected to... have a bite, so to speak." Gwen giggled again in spite of herself.

Sandy eyed Gwen carefully. "Is that all that's bothering you? You can tell me, or _ask_ me, anything."

Sobering, Gwen became suddenly very attentive to her fingers worrying her skirt in her lap. "I was... frightened. By what he did. I am afraid to be alone with him."

"I've known Thakûf for almost all his life," Sandy said. "I have full confidence that he would never, _ever_ hurt you. Any more than he'd hurt anyone else in the clan."

"But... I am not in this... clan," Gwen said awkwardly.

"You're a guest of the clan," Sandy replied. "That's close enough."

Gwen nodded, allowing herself to relax a tiny bit more. To be honest, she had never been in the company of a woman so open and outspoken about these matters. Rather than use euphamism or innuendo to convey the information, Sandy came right out and boldly spoke words Gwen had only heard in hushed whispers, if ever. She felt emboldened to ask a question that had long plagued her; one which she had never felt courageous enough to ask her mother about.

"Forgive my rudeness, but...," Gwen ventured shyly, "what is it like?"

"What is _what_ like?" Sandy asked, confused.

"Um...," Gwen muttered with embarrassment, "intimacies... with... not necessarily with _Orcs_, but... I expect they are different from Men."

To Gwen's surprise, Sandy was neither offended nor hesitant in her answer. "Not really. Comparing the two... No, not a huge difference."

The woman's ease with the subject emboldened Gwen. "You have been with... Men as well?"

"Yeah, a few," Sandy shrugged. "But what you're asking is, what's it like. Between two people who love each other, it's like... having a very deep, meaningful conversation without words. Learning about someone in a way that nobody else will ever know them. Even if they have another lover, it won't be the same... conversation, I suppose. Sort of... working together for a common goal, in a way," she said, chuckling a little. "Even if that goal is just for both of you to get off at the same time."

Frowning, Gwen repeated, "Get... off?"

"You know... uh... maybe you don't," Sandy conceded, seeing the confusion on the girl's face. "Haven't you ever... touched yourself?" She darted her eyes at Gwen's lap for emphasis. Gwen's eyes flared wide, yet she colored so deeply red and looked away so quickly, Sandy knew instantly the girl was at least familiar with _that_. "That's pretty much where you and your partner are wanting to end up. The sad thing is, men don't have _any_ problem getting off. Good god. A breath of wind could finish them off. Us poor girls, we take work. Some men care, some don't. I've been with men who didn't care; they got their jollies then rolled over and went to sleep." Winking at Gwen's rapt face, Sandy grinned. "Those were men who didn't last long in _my_ bed, let me tell you."

"Have you been with... many?"

Sandy shrugged. "A few. A couple of very selfish lovers, and a couple of very generous ones. The kind of man who'd make you see stars." Smiling, she said, "I'll be honest, Morkoth is one of those kind. He's... very attentive. Very... self-sacrificing. If he doesn't succeed in taking me to the mountaintop, as it were, he doesn't let himself go, either. I've never seen anyone do that. He just... swallows it, I guess, and counts to ten." Giggling behind her hand, Sandy added, "Sometimes twenty."

Awkward yet eager for the learned woman's opinion, Gwen said, "There is a man I... well, he and I are betrothed."

"Really?" Sandy said with a grin. "What's he like?"

"His name is Serondaen," Gwen gushed. "He is _so_ brave. He went with a handful of men from our village to fight in the war." A troubled look clouded her face. "He has not come back. None have said anything of his... death, and a few who went with him have returned. They have no news of him. Whether he... They simply said to... to assume the worst if he was not home within the year."

Sandy took her hand again. "Do you think he might be in Gondor?" she asked softly.

"I hope he is," Gwen replied, and Sandy could tell she'd been clinging to that hope for a long time.

"You love him, then?" Sandy prompted.

Shaking herself, Gwen opened her mouth to reply in the affirmative, that _yes_, of course she loved him. Had she not loved him since the day she first clapped eyes upon him, so handsome and proud atop his steed? Did his armor not shine so brightly in the mid-day sun as to blind any who looked upon it? Did he not drop to one knee to press his lips so gently to her hand?

Did he not discuss in heated words with her father the matter of her dowry and the disposition of the farm in her father's will? Did he not cast his eyes upon a buxom woman exposing more flesh than was proper in the middle of the day in town, and did his eyes not gleam with hunger at the sight?

Were the well-practiced words of love not ashes in her mouth as the memories she'd fiercely denied raised themselves from the dead to taunt her now?


	14. Night of a Thousand Torments

**Night of a Thousand Torments**

Barash's laughter faded after a few long minutes, then he gave Brytta a speculative look. Motioning to his mate, he drew Akhûna close and murmured in her ear. "Let the half-Man keep his secrets. It will eat at his insides, thinkin' he has to keep it hidden. But tonight... maybe we give'im a little... gift, eh?" He and the matriarch of his clan, the light in his darkness, the shield at his back, the dam of his whelps, exchanged a knowing look.

They'd been bonded for hundreds of years. There was no need for words most of the time. Akhûna grinned maliciously.

"I'll go fetch'im," she purred, and left.

Turning his red-hued eyes to Brytta, Barash smirked at her. She seemed to have shifted back into denial as a defense. Her next statement proved that.

"If he is so... enamored," Brytta said shakily, "why does he try to get rid of me?"

Barash arched his brow. "Get rid of you? Kill you?"

"No," she replied, gathering her courage from the Orc's confusion. "He would rather I had stayed behind with his... clan. He has made several attempts to urge me to return there. That does not seem to _me_ that he has some sort of... bond." She carefully schooled her tongue and thoughts, hoping the Orc wouldn't ask any more about the clan. The family she swore to protect were there. Other women were there.

She was startled to admit that there were children there as well. Innocent children... A boy she'd seen Nûrzgrat dandle on his knee... That they were Orc children didn't seem to matter anymore.

Chuckling, Barash shook his head. "He tried to push you away. Half-Man." Turning, he spat on the floor. "The bond cannot be denied for long. The need to mate is strong." A leer split his face as her confidence faltered once more, and he began to wheeze with laughter again. Barash hadn't laughed so much in decades.

Moments later, a disheveled and cross-looking Nûrzgrat was pushed into the chamber ahead of Shagal, Fulak and Akhûna. The matriarch resumed her seat beside her mate, curling next to him and laying a possessive hand on his thigh. Shagal kept her hands on Nûrzgrat, running them over his body just to watch him squirm away and hear him bark a warning. Fulak roughly shoved Burbur aside to attend to Brytta.

"Better see to your gal," he advised the larger Orc. "Gone and whimpered herself into a state again."

Nodding, Burbur left. He'd been put in Nausaar's place when the Orc's continued absence told them he was never returning. He helped Kraibûf handle her mate's whelps, now grown enough to be left on their own for a bit each day. She coupled with him when the mood took her; she'd born one of his whelps. That was all he'd ever get from her. It was enough.

Brytta couldn't look at Nûrzgrat, afraid that she would see confirmation of the Orcs' fantasy in his eyes.

Barash scanned Nûrzgrat and Brytta. He only wished he could get around like he used to, so he could watch this...

"Got a gift for yuh, half-Man," he said. "Since you been so handy round here." Shagal growled.

"Worthless, he is," she snapped. "Got hisself..."

Barash held up a hand sharply, stopping his daughter from saying anything else. "Quiet," he said firmly. Understanding, Shagal smirked and went silent.

"Shagal, Fulak," the old Orc said, "_strip'em._"

Nûrzgrat's eyes popped open in shock, momentarily unable to resist as Shagal began to tear at his clothes. Brytta's screams wrestled his attention from what was happening to him, and he surged in her direction. Fulak was enthusiastically ripping the woman's clothing off, tearing it in strips and peeling each piece away in the most invasive manner possible. She was trying to fight him, but she was still bound, and if she lifted her feet to kick at her assailant, she might go down, then he would likely fall upon her...

Roaring in protest, Nûrzgrat struggled against Shagal, who was free with a cudgel as she went about the business of following her da's orders. Trying to charge at the Orc only got Shagal's foot tripping him up, so that _he_ went down, and the female crawled all over him, ripping his clothes to shreds.

Still, the woman's screams and sobs filled Nûrzgrat's ears, and the desperate need to protect her made him single-minded, utterly focused. He wasn't even aware of Shagal sitting astride his torso, his hands clamped between her legs. She beat him repeatedly with her weapon until the blows began to slow his struggles and he sagged, senseless, against the stone floor.

Then all at once, it was over. Shagal rose and hauled Nûrzgrat to his feet, his legs trembling, head swimming. He was barely able to focus on Brytta, standing naked among the tattered remnants of her clothing, eyes squeezed shut and whimpering sobs tumbling from her quivering lips. Fulak leered around a bloodied lip and slapped Brytta's buttocks, making her jump and squeal.

"Got some fight, this one does," he commented for Nûrzgrat's benefit. "Kinda envy you, yuh bastard."

"What the fuck you want from us?" Nûrzgrat snarled, fixing a furious glare on Barash.

The old Orc ignored him. "Throw'em in the pit."

Cackling wildly, Fulak yanked Brytta around so she lost her balance and fell to her knees, then he dragged her by her bound arms across the floor toward another tunnel. Shagal was ready for Nûrzgrat's lunge, and buried her fist in his gut to slow him down. "Let'im have his play, half-Man. You'll get yours soon enough."

The tunnel led them to a dead end with a three-foot hole in the floor. Releasing Brytta, Fulak waggled a clawed finger in her face. "Just you stay put, now. Got nowhere to run. There's more in these tunnels than the few of us, yuh know. I'm bettin' you won't wanna meet'em." Then he turned and dropped down into the hole.

The sounds of flint striking rock could be heard, then the Orc scrambled back up with Shagal's help. A dim flickering glow reflected off the edges of the hole.

"All right," Fulak said, grabbing Brytta and deftly releasing her hands from their tight bonds. "Nice and cozy now. Down yuh go." Then he pushed her in.

It wasn't a long drop, but with little to no warning and hands numb from the rope, Brytta fell flat on her face and could barely move for several seconds. Then she rolled onto her back in time to see Nûrzgrat plummeting toward her.

He fell heavily, his own useless hands unable to break his fall or spare Brytta his full weight. Still a little out of sorts from the beating he'd received, it took him a moment to push himself off her screaming, writhing body, or even to register the clubbing she was giving him to urge a speedy retreat.

"Ah, they're like mates already, ain't they?" Shagal crooned tauntingly, watching the struggle below. She was on her hands and knees, her face framed by the roughly circular opening of the oubliette. "Gonna enjoy watchin' this, I am."

"Got a feelin' he's gonna need some help," Fulak said, reaching down to stroke Shagal's backside. "Little inspiration. Maybe... somethin' we can do to get'im in the mood, eh?"

Looking back over her shoulder, she growled deep in her throat, but it was not a warning. Fulak could read his female's every expression, every sound. He hastily dropped to his knees behind her and flipped her kilt up.

Shagal looked back down at Nûrzgrat, cleaving to one wall while the _tark_ hugged the opposite wall. There was barely a foot between them. As Fulak roughly entered her, she grunted with satisfaction.

"Half-Man," she snarled, her voice hitching with every thrust, "yuh know yuh wanna fuck her. Just take her. Ain't nobody gonna tell. Fuck her hard. Fuck her till she begs yuh for it. Fuck her till she don't want nothin' but your cock. Yuh know she will. Good hard cock like yours. She'd be stupid as fuck not to wanna ride it. Show her. Give it to her. Give it... give it... fuck her hard... harder... _harder_, _pushdug_!" Shagal roared over her shoulder through gritted teeth.

Brytta couldn't cover her ears well enough to muffle the sounds of what was happening above them. She foolishly glanced up only to see the Orcess's face contorted with lustful pleasure. Shaking from head to toe, she tried to curl herself into a ball to hide her nakedness. She wrapped her arms around her head and tucked in, trying not to hear. The words the Orcess was bellowing to the male Orc, the grunting and growling sounds _he_ was making, the loud slap of their hides as he drove into her... It was horrifyingly obscene, and Brytta found herself screaming almost as loudly to drown them out.

If what Barash and Akhûna said was true, that Nûrzgrat's folk were bred to desire coupling at all times, how could he possibly resist? There was a heavy, musky scent building up as well, seeming to fill the small space above and waft down into the tiny enclosure. A confusion of thoughts came to her mind, seemingly a reaction to the stench, as if below the surface of her panic, fear and despair, there ran a thread of... ever so slight... wantonness.

She started with shock. If _she_ could discern the scents of lust and arousal coming from the Orcs, how much worse must it be for Nûrzgrat? Hadn't Sandy told her that the Uruk-hai knew when she had... naughty thoughts? What was happening above them was more disgustingly real than innocent fantasy.

Any moment now, he would launch himself upon her, she was certain. Any moment now...

Soon enough...

Very soon...

Even as the pair of Orcs reached a crescendo in their vile act, Brytta realized there was no sound of Nûrzgrat approaching her, much less moving at all. Slowly, holding her breath, she unfolded one arm from around her head and peeked at the Uruk. She was shocked by what she saw.

The dark-skinned Uruk was cleaved to the wall, huddled with his side turned to her, and was slowly drawing his claws down the rock over and over again. His eyes were squeezed tightly shut. From head to toe, he trembled violently and heaved deep breaths. A grimace contorted his mouth, and his jaw was clenched, teeth bared. His bare toes curled and flexed in the dirt, gaining and releasing purchase.

Knees drawn up, his privates were thankfully hidden from view, but she did not need to see it with her own eyes to know he was fully, painfully aroused.

While the last thing in the world she wanted to do was draw the Uruk's attention, Brytta felt inexplicably moved by his suffering, for clearly he was in torment. He could not possibly be doing this to deny the Orcs the satisfaction of a victory over him. Brytta had heard the words of the leader, that they were to be released when the Orcs were finished with them. Had Nûrzgrat been told the same? Not that she was aware. In which case, he must surely assume they were to be slain.

Why, then, did he torture himself? If he lacked only the consummation of this... bond to ease his pain, surely even a _man_ facing certain death would avail himself of what comforts were available until such an end came. Moreso would an Orc take advantage of every opportunity presented. And Nûrzgrat was an Orc... wasn't he?

But as she watched him struggle against primal urges and instincts that clearly demanded his obedience, perhaps more strongly than his Master of old, she realized something: this bond was not simply about coupling with another. It could not _possibly_ be as simple as that. There was nothing to stop him from assaulting her.

Nothing... except perhaps the bond itself. Barash disdainfully spoke of Nûrzgrat 'hoping she'd come to him on her own.' Since she was highly unlikely to do so, he was enduring hellish agony to protect her from himself.

In this place, among his own kind, where she was truly an outsider, he defied his nature _for her_. Unexpectedly, she felt a surge of gratitude, as well as admiration. With those feelings came the release of some of her tensions, and she let out a shuddering breath.

* * *

Above them, Shagal and Fulak rested. Fulak lay next to her with an arm possessively draped over her waist as he caught his breath. Sated for the moment, Shagal lay her head on her arms and watched the Uruk and _tark_. Their stand-off was boring.

"I've half a mind to go down there and remind the dumb bastard what he's supposed to be doin'," she grumbled quietly. "Look at him, all shivery. Pathetic."

"Maybe he wants another example, my pet," Fulak suggested, slipping his hand down between her legs to cup her sex. Shagal grunted with amusement.

"Give'im a minute," she said. "He's stirrin'."

* * *

In the relative calm, Nûrzgrat slowly loosened his grip. He'd never endured anything like it before. Why didn't they fucking peel his skin off, strip by strip? That would've been preferable. That scent... so like the breeding pits... rutting and male seed and musk... He'd never smelled a female of his own kind, or nearly his own kind, before. Being introduced to the intoxicating smell of a female in heat while naked in a pit with the female he'd bonded with... and the _sounds_ of fucking so near at hand... It's a wonder he didn't go mad. More of a mystery that he hadn't closed his eyes and opened them to find himself on top of Brytta, buried to the hilt.

_No, don't fucking think that!_ he admonished himself. The idea alone was enough to rattle his already-spinning head. It was _wrong_. He'd been in the company of Uruk-hai who knew how to treat their mates for long enough. He'd seen the value of restraint; witnessed, to his embarrassment, the rewards of letting the female lead in these matters. He also knew now that to forcibly take something so personal, so private from a woman was just... _wrong_. He'd done it enough; no need to do it anymore.

Because he knew the consequences. He'd seen the hate in those females' eyes. He couldn't bear to see it in Brytta's.

Keeping his eyes averted, he rasped shakily, "Ain't gonna touch you. I swear it."

"You... give your word?" she asked quietly.

"It's all I have," he replied. "Don't have nothin' else to give nobody." He chuckled humorlessly. "Ain't worth much. Swore I'd keep Frû away from Hengolwen." He drew a shuddering breath. "See how _that_ fucking turned out. But for what it's worth, I swear to you... I ain't gonna do nothin' to yuh."

"Thank you," she whispered, unsure what else to say. As her tensions eased, she began to feel the cold. Her body shook from violent chills. She tried to hug herself more tightly, as if that would keep the heat in better, but she knew it was pointless. She was exhausted; she'd gotten very little sleep the night before, then they had run for perhaps twenty miles that day. The last several hours since their capture had been fraught with terror, though in truth the Orcs hadn't actually harmed either one of them.

Except, perhaps, Nûrzgrat. She wondered if Shagal was successful in her assault, if the Uruk had been taken by force. The thought shocked her; she'd never imagined a male could be raped, yet what else would one call it? She found herself hoping Fulak had been victorious in his attempt to thwart the female Orc, if only for his own selfish reasons.

Regardless, she was beginning to fade. Brytta was warned of this seemingly ages ago. She was told that weariness and frigid conditions often made for a sleep from which one did not wake. Deep underground where they were, sequestered in too tight a space to move about and get their blood flowing...

Panic welled within her once more. Perhaps this was part of it; put them in a place so cold and confined that only vigorous coupling would warm them, for there was no room for anything else. A whimper snuck out of her, and she covered her mouth to prevent a second one.

"You all right?" Nûrzgrat asked.

Before she could stop herself, she stuttered, "C-c-cold. So c-cold."

He wasn't so bad off as that. An Orc was well-suited to the underground; their tough hide protected them from many things, extremes in temperature being one. Add to that the unnatural heat that radiated from an Orc's body...

The irony of their situation was not lost on him.

"Didn't know it would be so hard as this," he muttered.

"What?" Brytta asked.

"When Sandy and Brie came to us," he explained, "the nights were about this cold still. I made the boys – Morkoth and Ghru – snuggle up to'em, to keep'em warm. Didn't know what I was askin' of'em. Them _or_ the women." Forcing himself to turn, he looked at her tear-streaked face and winced, but forged ahead. "I can warm yuh, if you... if you..." He faltered and looked away again. "Never mind. Forget I said anything."

"Go on, _tark_," Shagal interjected. Brytta started; the Orcs had been quiet for so long, she'd forgotten they were there. "Curl up with'im. Ain't nothin' gonna warm yuh like an Orc cock in yer ass."

"That an invitation?" Fulak chimed in.

They heard shifting and scraping as the Orcs once more moved into position.

"Aaaahh," Shagal purred, and Nûrzgrat groaned with dread. Again, the Orcs commenced with their attempts to drive him beyond his ability to remain in control of his faculties. Wrapping his arms around his head, he forced himself to think about thatching the roofs in the spring. First they gathered up the right grasses from that meadow a few miles away. It usually took several trips, even with everyone pitching in and carrying huge armloads. This year, Ashmau had been perched in a sling across Morkoth's back, four or five pieces of straw in each tightly clenched fist, doing his part. Ilsa carried more than the year before, only scattering half of her load this time as her meandering, easily distracted steps brought her home.

A well-thatched roof gave them all a sense of satisfaction, particularly when the spring rains came and they could sleep in dry beds. The sun baked the grasses as well, so that by midsummer they were no longer golden but a deep brown...

Rather like Brytta's hair... and not the hair on her head, either...

Shaking himself violently, Nûrzgrat growled at himself for letting his thoughts wander down that road. Brytta was weeping again. He didn't need to look at her to know she was huddled in a protective ball, hiding herself as best she could from his eyes. Thinking he actually needed to _see_...

No. The Orcs knew exactly what it took. The sounds, the scent... even the _idea_. An Orc was pack-oriented; when one had a morsel, the rest came to feed. Same went for fucking, especially among the Uruk-hai since it was such a strong urge. It was why Morkoth nearly killed Thakûf whenever he caught the boy spying on him and Sandy. He didn't want the natural urge to join in or take a turn to flare up and get Sandy raped.

Nûrzgrat was shocked when he learned that the idea never even occurred to Thakûf. There was something to be said for his making, of the heavy dose of Man's blood in the youngest ones. Neither Thak nor Razkaar felt remotely compelled to assault females. It was true that for a year after he was pulled from the earth, Thak spent a surprising amount of time pleasuring himself, but Brie had just shrugged and said, "Teenagers." Like that explained it. As if it was normal even from the point of view of a whiteskin.

Would it make things worse if he did the same now, he wondered? It would be so much easier if he could just take care of this problem with his own hands, release the pressure so he could concentrate on leaving Brytta the fuck alone.

Brytta... she was everything he'd wanted without knowing he wanted it. She was strong and fierce, a fighter with spirit. True, she was, perhaps, at her lowest point right now, but that worked as well. Oddly enough, it made him feel stronger, more protective... _needed_. So desperately needed.

She needed him now, not just to spare her the revolting experience of enduring his touch, but to somehow... some way... keep her warm without touching her.

Something he wouldn't be able to manage if that fucking _noise_ didn't stop up there!

"Oy!" Nûrzgrat barked. "Finish'er, already! Yuh lose yer touch, one-eye?"

"Don't... tell me my... business, half-Man!" Fulak gasped back. "Yuh got more'n enough Orc in yuh. Why dontcha put some in _her_?" Both Orcs snickered at his joke.

"Wouldn't wanna give away my secrets!" Nûrzgrat retorted. "Might learn somethin', yuh filth. Ain't nobody bests an Uruk in _anything_!"

"Put yer cock where yer mouth is, _pushdug_," Shagal grunted. "Or where _her_ mouth is." More sniggering.

Fuming, Nûrzgrat nearly rose. He was tall enough to reach the rim of the hollow above, though he probably wouldn't be able to lift himself out. Certainly wouldn't be able to do so without taking a beating in the process. But standing would expose him fully to Brytta, and while he wasn't particularly modest about his body, he didn't think she'd appreciate seeing the irrefutable evidence of his arousal so blatantly displayed.

Best to just stay where he was and deride their captors where they couldn't reach him.

"Sounds like she's gettin' bored, one-eye," Nûrzgrat warned. "Get any weaker, and she'll go lookin' for it somewhere else."

"Like down there with you?" Fulak snorted. "That's an idea. You fuck Shagal and show me how it's done, and I'll fuck yer whiteskin. Maybe we compare after, eh?"

"Touch her, and I'll kill you," Nûrzgrat snarled through gritted teeth. Not exactly where he wanted the conversation to go.

"Listen to you!" Fulak laughed sarcastically. "Think you got any say? All I gotta do is put you out. Then that bit of cunt is _mine_. Might get Burbur back here to have a go. He only gets it from Kraibûf when she's in a good mood, and that don't happen much."

"Shut yer fuckin' mouth," Shagal growled, and the sound of a fist striking flesh echoed off the walls. "Back to yer work, _pushdug_."

To Nûrzgrat's amusement, Fulak peaked soon after, but Shagal was left unsatisfied. This did not go over well. He laughed as the Orcess laid into the weakened Orc with both hands and likely her feet, beating him senseless. He'd figured Shagal was the sort to demand satisfaction _every_ time, and woe to the Orc who failed her.

Grinning, Nûrzgrat glanced at Brytta, but she was still tucked in and avoiding his eyes. Her body shivered so much, he sobered with worry. If he urged her closer, would he be able to withstand the added torment of her soft skin against his rough hide? Would he be able to dam up that river to save her life?

He was getting tired of having questions without answers. He'd have to _try_. Or he could sit there and watch her die.

"Brytta," he growled softly. "_Brytta_."

She slowly turned her head. Her eyes were only half open. Even so little movement set her body off in spasms of cold shivers.

Swallowing hard, Nûrzgrat turned his body toward her. He let one leg rest bent at the knee, and raised the other knee, forming a sort of chair. Granted, a chair with a very hard rod in the middle of the seat, but it would put more of his body around hers. Motioning to her, he said, "Come to me. I'll warm yuh. I promise... _I promise_... I... don't wanna see yuh die, Brytta. Come on now."

She stared at him, weighing his offer. All she knew of Orcs, what she'd been told of Uruk-hai, what she understood of Nûrzgrat... She no longer knew what to expect. If she went to him, perhaps he _would_ keep his word... or he would rape her.

Squeezing her eyes shut, she realized that either way, she'd be warm. It was a terrible choice to make. Submit to brutal violation, or freeze to death. She realized as she looked at him that, as long as she had the choice of her rapist, Nûrzgrat was... preferred.

Nodding, she forced her stiffening limbs to move, and crawled over to him. She tried not to look at his engorged member as she sat on his lap. Closing her eyes, she let him maneuver her into a comfortable position and embrace her, pulling her against his chest.

He gasped with the effort of restraint, but once she was still, he let his breath out in a whoosh. Little by little, he felt himself calming, which confused him. He thought he'd be more worked up with her in his arms, not... contented.

For her part, Brytta felt her tensions easing as well, and let her head rest on Nûrzgrat's shoulder. His body was so warm; nearly _hot_... and such a comfort she nearly wept with relief. She longed to rest her hand upon his heart where he was warmest, for her hands were ice cold, yet she dared not. He seemed to know, however, for he took them both in one hand and held them against his chest.

The temptation to succumb to helplessness and sink deeper, absorb not just his heat but his obvious strength in this terrible place, was nearly overwhelming. Were his member not so hard against her body, demanding her attention and forcing her acknowledgement of the threat still lurking beneath the surface, she might have relaxed.

But she'd made her choice. If the worst came of it... so be it. She gradually gave in, slowly surrendered.

Though she trembled in his arms nearly as much as he did against the strain of holding himself in check, he could feel her slowing down, going still as fatigue claimed her. He found himself wishing this moment would never end, and winced at how pathetic he sounded. But it was true; he would never again be this close to her, and perhaps that was why his lust was diminished somewhat. She was in his arms; he could feel her cold skin warming against him, feel the softness of her body... wanting desperately to hold her like this and never let go... to feel the comforting closeness of a mate he had envied for years...

If only she could forget, for one moment, that he was an Orc. Just one... was that so much to ask? Just close her eyes, and forget.

He almost laughed at the ludicrous thought. The woman wasn't blind; she'd _never_ be that blind, even if her eyes were taken.

She tensed briefly, as if she were falling asleep and startled awake.

"'S'okay, Brytta," he murmured. "Won't do nothin' to yuh. I promise. I promise." His voice tapered off into a whisper as he felt her sinking into sleep, repeating, "_I promise_."

* * *

"Don't that look sweet," Shagal growled sarcastically. "Almost hate to disturb'em." Yet the resistance of this Uruk against what she knew was an overwhelmingly strong urge rather impressed her. His admittedly misplaced respect for a female he thought of as a mate was also interesting. Someone like her da or even that idiot, Fulak, she expected such treatment from, but an Uruk? One of those half-Men, minds and bodies so abused by sorcery, it was a wonder they could manage at all, much less make a choice like this and stick to it.

_Whelps in an elder's body_, she mused, remembering Kraibûf's description.

"He's strong," she murmured. "Mighty strong."

Fulak's ears pricked at her tone, and he growled a warning. "Don't you go forgettin' what he is, now. One'uh them half-Men. You wanna drop a tainted whelp off'uh him? Akhûna'd skin you for it."

Shaking herself, Shagal shrugged it off. "Course not. Worthless pig."

"Gotta remind yuh," Fulak snarled, rolling onto her back. He roughly kicked her legs apart and fumbled between them to seat his cock at her entrance. "Make yuh forget that bit of filth down there." Then he rammed into her hard.

Snarling, Shagal reached back and clubbed his head, but arched her back to better receive him.

* * *

The noisy commencement of yet another round above them startled Brytta out of her doze. Her body instinctively went rigid and she began to shake once more. Nûrzgrat released her hands and awkwardly stroked her hair.

"Just ignore'em," he said unsteadily. His own breaths were gasping out as the scent of sex was strongly renewed. "I promise. Ain't gonna do nothin'. I promise."

She could do nothing but nod. His repetition of those words – _I promise_ – lulled her, and she focused on them to the exclusion of all else.

* * *

By the time Fulak had finished her _properly_ this time, Shagal was furious. The half-Man _still_ denied them a good show.

"I'll be back," she growled, and trotted off down the tunnel. Fulak lay gasping in a heap. He hadn't given that gal so much fucking at one time in all the years he'd been after her. He had to hope that maybe _this_ time, she'd let herself bond to him.

His respect and affection for the Orcess were strengthened upon her return, lugging a bucket full to the brim with ice cold water from the underground pool their little clan controlled.

"This'll wake'em up," she snarled, and heaved the contents into the hollow directly on top of Nûrzgrat and Brytta. Fulak doubled up with laughter at the whiteskin's screams and the half-Man's roars. Shagal could barely keep her feet, she was howling so much. "Their _faces_!" she shrieked, stumbling into the wall and leaning on it for support.

It took several minutes for the two of them to settle down enough to speak. Fulak peered into the pit and smirked. "All right. Looks like you lot've had enough. Best get yuh up."

Reaching down, he and Shagal grasped Nûrzgrat's hands and hauled him out. Both immediately shoved his face into the wall and tied his wrists behind his back again. Then Shagal spun him around.

A leering grin spread across the Orc's face. "This is how it's done, _half-Man_," he sneered, and dropped into the hole.

Nûrzgrat went wild. Prepared for his reaction, Shagal struck the Uruk across the face with her cudgel, then laid into him with abandon. Brytta's terrified screams echoed off the walls and Nûrzgrat fought like a beast gone mad, trying to get to her. Shagal brought him to his knees, then flattened him, finally kneeling across his back and pounding his skull until blackness engulfed him.


	15. An Infestation of Elves

**An Infestation of Elves**

They waited until they believed she had fallen asleep before they began speaking, and Gwen listened intently. Her thoughts had been in turmoil all day. Once it was called to her attention that her father's opinions were not universally shared, and might even be _wrong_, she began watching her elders more closely.

She even watched the Orcs.

When she fetched water for her mother, bringing it to the sick room, she lingered for awhile. The tall, scarred Orc never left. Perhaps he stepped out to relieve himself occasionally, but he hovered over Brianna as a man sitting vigil over a dying wife would do. And always in his arms he cradled Hontor, unless Sandy took her for feeding. The Orc's brutal-looking hands were so careful and gentle as he changed her nappies or offered a clawed finger for her to grasp.

His harsh and frightening face softened nearly to handsomeness when he looked upon his child.

Gwen remembered her mother laughingly recalling once how little time Faelur spent at home when she was an infant, for she squalled so. It had seemed embarrassingly amusing at the time, but now... She could not imagine her father showing nearly the attention toward her that this Orc did his own child, and felt a slight pang at the realization.

She knew what Faelur would say. Caring for babes was women's work.

Sandy's words kept coming back to her all day as she helped the woman mind the little ones. She'd asked Gwen to just be a friend to Thakûf, if she could find it in herself to do so little. The young Uruk had grown beyond the childish games of his 'siblings,' she'd said, and was frankly lonely for another his own age.

It was slightly insulting at the time, the edge of sarcasm in Sandy's voice when she said 'to do so little.' Gwen admitted to her shame that she had given the woman no reason to think she would be kind for kindness' sake.

The younger Orcs seemed always gone from the settlement, off in the woods running wild. In their explorations, Ilsa and Raz found a nest of newborn rabbits that afternoon, and brought the lot of them back. At first, Gwen assumed the tiny kits were dead, and nearly exploded with anger at the little girl, for she held one of them in her hands close to her chest in the same way she dragged that bloody deer tail around.

But Ilsa motioned her close, her face alight with joy, and opened her hands a small amount to show Gwen that the baby rabbit was sleeping contentedly, wrapped warmly in the fluff from its nest. Razkaar carried two himself, and deposited them on the ground next to the fire. Barely able to walk yet, the rabbits huddled together, sniffing their new surroundings, while the young Orc watched them with rapt fascination.

Gwen was dumbfounded. They were Orcs; would they not be driven to kill such helpless creatures? Perhaps they raided a nest, but they brought them home as _pets_. Sandy told them they had to feed them like the mother would, since they took them so young; Gwen could tell the woman wanted to scold them, but they seemed so eager to do whatever she told them to care for their new charges that she relented.

In the darkness of the longhouse, Gwen listened as her father complained in low tones of Sandy's confrontation with him that morning. He'd been truly offended by her audacity, and expressed his frustration that he didn't understand why these women didn't know their place and weren't respectful to him.

Gwen frowned; her father barely spoke with Brianna when he attended her mother at the woman's bedside. She knew he only went in there to 'protect' Mae from the hulking Orc who never left the house. Yet he included the poor woman in his admonition of Sandy, as if they were one and the same.

Then he launched into another diatribe, describing the women's 'wantonness' so revoltingly displayed, allowing those monstrous beasts to 'paw at them' day and night in full view. Again, Gwen's brow furrowed. She had seen what he called 'pawing,' and it was nothing of the sort. Ghru in the sick room frequently checked on Brianna to reassure himself of her condition, and she had witnessed his affectionate gestures enough to know they could not be classified as 'pawing.'

Ghru merely kissed her. He often pressed his forehead to hers and stroked her cheek. They held hands. They talked.

As for Sandy and Morkoth, they were more demonstrative, but still more discreet than her father's words would have one believe. Sandy seemed to be a bit of a tease, in fact, and sometimes patted the giant Orc's backside in passing. Not necessarily for want of reciprocation, but simply as a gesture of affectionate acknowledgement of his presence. They also kissed frequently, but only briefly in greeting or parting.

To hear her father speak of it, they fell upon one another in a frenzy in the middle of the clearing!

"I have not heard such words from you before," her mother said, and Gwen detected a thread of worry in the woman's voice. "You have ever respected my calling, and have not made mention of my 'place' as you do of these women."

"Your calling is appropriate," Faelur said gently. Gwen recognized the tone; he spoke as he did when explaining to _her_ that her words were foolish. "Bringing children into the world is not something a man should trouble himself with."

There was a pause. When Mae spoke again, Gwen was certain her mother had suppressed a very unladylike retort.

"I see. What would you say to this, then: that beautiful little girl of Brianna's was delivered by Nûrzgrat. _He_ brought that child into the world, _alone_. I did not hear from him or any others that such a thing should shame him."

"He is an _Orc_, Mae," Faelur said patiently, as if that excused any foul thing done by them. "There is little he does, or _has_ done, I shouldn't wonder, that would _not_ shame a _man_." Sighing, he muttered, "It is frustrating. That Sandy has now taken an interest in Gwen, and will likely fill her head with inappropriate ideas."

"I see no harm...," Mae replied cautiously, only to be interrupted by Faelur.

"You have other things to concern yourself about," he replied. "It surprises me that you see no harm in Gwen's association with... a woman of that sort. Trust my judgment in this, won't you? As soon as this Brianna woman is well enough, we ought to be on our way. The... tall one who favors Sandy... he took me to see about salvaging what we could from the wagon today."

"Morkoth."

"What?"

"Sandy's mate," Mae said. "His name is Morkoth."

"Indeed," he said, continuing as if the information was of no importance. "That boy trailed along with us. I do not want our daughter consorting with him. I do not care what Sandy says; he is an _Orc_. The longer we stay here, the more likely it is that he will fall upon her like the beast he is. Then all will be lost."

"How so?"

"Well, then she will be spoiled," Faelur said matter-of-factly. "If we are to make the necessary connections with the decent folk of Gondor, her innocence must be irrefutable. A man will not wed a woman who has been... used so. Less if an Orc is suspected. I will not have a potential inroad blocked by such suspicions."

Gwen blinked in shock. Her father's concern was in her use as a commodity for brokering a business deal? Was she no more important than a piece of property to him?

Another pause preceded Mae's cold voice. "Your words... surprise me, Faelur. I confess, I was not aware..."

"Such things do not concern you," he said. "The men with whom I conduct my business have always been of the same mind; I am merely... bereft of their wise counsel in this hellish place. You needn't feel compelled to solve my dilemma; I merely require you to listen."

Gwen could feel it across the room, the stiffening of her mother's spine and the rising anger. She was reasonably certain her mother's mind was filled with the same question: Who _was_ this man?

"If that... is all you require," Mae said tightly, "then I shall... listen."

"That is satisfactory," Faelur said approvingly. Gwen once again saw in her mind's eye the way the Orcs spoke with their mates... spoke _with_ them. Asked their opinions, in fact. Did _Orcs_ value a woman more than Men did? How could _that_ be?

"But Faelur," Mae said defensively, "you must realize that Sandy and Brianna have lived among Orcs for a few years now. They have _had_ to be strong and... forthright. Perhaps it was their way of protecting themselves."

Gwen strained to hear her father's response to _that_. In truth, Gwen wasn't so certain that Sandy, at least, wasn't already a strong-willed woman even _before_ she joined with them.

"Hmph," he grunted dismissively. "Their defiance is the fault of these Orcs, I shouldn't wonder. Sandy in particular has clearly been well-schooled by them in matters of foul language. Likely urged into bullying behavior as well. Do you know that she approached me as a man intent upon starting a physical altercation? For a moment, I thought she might _strike_ me! Such behavior from a woman is grievously unconscionable.

"I confess, I felt urged to violence by her tirade," Faelur added, and Gwen's eyes widened. "It would have been her own doing if I had; you should have seen her aggressive posturing. Quite distasteful."

Lying in shock in her bed, Gwen couldn't believe what she was hearing. Was it the first time she'd ever heard him say such things, as it clearly was for her mother? Perhaps were she back home, among those who believed the same things, she might not be so taken aback. But she'd spent a few days in the company of women who believed differently, and she frankly liked what she saw of their strength and independence.

Now she remembered the hired sword, Bronhador, revealed as a woman named Brytta before leaving so suddenly with Nûrzgrat. Brytta had gone disguised as a man for years; they'd heard tales of her deeds long before hiring her and the others for this trip; deeds which now seemed all the more admirable and brave, for they were done by a woman.

What fate would have awaited her, had they remained in Archet and Serondaen returned to claim her? Somehow, the thought of following through with the promise to marry him seemed as appealing as being sold to the highest bidder, particularly now that it seemed she _had_ been. She could not imagine that someone like Sandy would have stood for such an arrangement.

"Faelur," Mae finally said, her voice betraying temper she rarely showed, "you know nothing of women, do you? In all the years we have been together, you have learned _nothing_."

"Here, now," Faelur snapped, but Mae did not give him the opportunity to scold her into submission.

"You have told me what was said and what was done," Mae continued as if she hadn't been interrupted. "You insulted that boy. _Thakûf_ is his name. You accused him of... I do not blame Sandy for defending him. They are a family, though few of them share blood. And you _threatened_ one of them."

Startled, Faelur said, "I did no such thing! I merely said..."

"You _did_," Mae insisted. "You implied that he would assault our daughter. Do you have any idea what is done to Orcs who are captured by Men and it is known that they have done such things? They are _butchered_."

Her husband was silent for several heartbeats. Gwen strained to hear, unsure if he whispered or was simply not speaking at all. Finally, he found his voice.

"Hhh-ow do you know this?" he hissed incredulously. "I did not think you were... aware."

"I have _seen it done_," his wife snarled. "Who do you think is called upon to repair the damages done to their victims? While you are about your 'business' in the town, I am in the homes of folk who have endured such torments. I have stood beside them, lending them strength, as they watched their assailants... dealt with."

"How is it you can bear to be in the presence of these vile creatures, when you have seen...?" Faelur began, but again, his wife interrupted him.

"I am aware of many things you do not credit me for," Mae said in a low voice. "One of those things is what is done to our enemies, as if they have no thoughts, no feelings, no families. As if they are simply animals that must be put down, removed from our sight, for they are foul to look upon.

"We have been here for a few days, and I have looked upon the enemy. I have found that they are _not_ beasts, that they _have_ families, that they have _feelings_. They have joys and sorrows, just as we do. You shame yourself by denying that simple truth."

Gwen stared at the wall next to her bed, stunned by her mother's words. She had never given it thought, so wrapped in her own self-pity and anger at the upheaval in her own little world. There hadn't been room to spare a modicum of consideration for anyone but herself.

She hadn't considered that Thakûf, an Orc, had feelings. Horrible as it was, he accomplished something that earned him great praise and approval from his elders. He seemed so _proud_ of what he'd done. And he appeared so terribly hurt when she belittled him.

During the evening meal, he'd kept himself aloof, not taking part in the conversations. He shrugged off Razkaar's attempts to engage him in an after-dinner game with Ilsa. And all the while, he stared at the necklace of teeth in his hands. He still had not put the necklace on.

She wondered if he looked at the teeth, or his hands. They were dark-skinned and rough, and each gnarled finger ended in a black claw. Sandy said he wished to be a Man; what most reminded him he wasn't, were his hands.

If her mother could see these Orcs as people – thinking, feeling people – then perhaps she could as well.

Perhaps Thakûf wasn't so bad, really. Perhaps he couldn't help what he looked like. Perhaps... they could talk.

"I'll not hear any more of it," Faelur growled, and his tone made Gwen cringe into her blanket. "You know nothing of what you speak."

* * *

By morning, Gwen was resolved; she would speak with Thakûf, and apologize for insulting him. So simple a thing as that made her feel relief from the storm of worried thoughts she'd retired with the night before. She found herself smiling and humming as she prepared herself to greet the day.

What she and her parents saw when they emerged from the longhouse was completely unexpected.

All the residents of the tiny settlement were gathered in the center next to a cheerfully roaring bonfire, including Brianna, wrapped in a blanket against the morning chill. Among them were ten or twelve _Elves_, all happily chatting away.

A male Elf was going through a large pack of cookware and other things with Morkoth, the two engrossed in some discussion. A female held Hontor in her arms and cooed to the infant, Ghru looming protectively over them, his fierce yellow eyes intent upon every move the Elf woman made with his precious daughter.

Another female offered a cloth doll to Ilsa, who clasped it to her chest with eyes aglow. Sandy's gentle chiding that there were so many Elf-made dolls on the child's bed already, it was a wonder she had a place to sleep, drifted through the conversations all around.

An Elf man attended to Brianna, his expression concerned. The woman seemed so tired, yet glad to be out in the open air. Yet another male stood gravely by Razkaar as he displayed the bones he'd been meticulously carving for days when he and Ilsa weren't about their play. Sometimes, the Elf extended a long elegant finger to call attention to some feature he'd noticed. Still another Elf patiently walked backwards holding Ashmau's hands as the determined little boy, tongue clamped between his gums, practiced his walking.

Two were listening with great interest as Thakûf regaled them with what appeared to be the tale of his victory against the badger, for he gestured to his many wounds as he spoke. Gwen noticed that he held the necklace in his hand still.

An Elf turned enough from his conversation with Sandy to notice the dumbfounded family standing frozen in front of the longhouse, and approached them. "You must be the guests we were told of. Come, join us. We have brought food enough for all."

And indeed they had. Blankets were spread upon the ground and a great variety of food was laid. Mae and Faelur allowed the Elf to lead them forward, still stunned at seeing such cameraderie among Orcs and Elves. Gwen overheard one Elf speaking with Ghru, who seemed, of all of them, the least welcoming.

The Elf presented a sword to the scarred Uruk. "This is for your leader, Nûrzgrat." A slight smile appeared on the Elf's smooth face. "It is our understanding he did not favor the more... elegantly made weapon that was brought before. This is plainer; perhaps more to his liking."

"Yeah," Ghru muttered, clearly doing his best not to bare his teeth. "He'll like that. When he gets back."

"Where is he?" the Elf asked. "Not off hunting again, I hope? This is my last trip, for I will take the Straight Road this time. I was looking forward to meeting him ere I depart Arda. I have heard many good things."

Ghru glanced at Brianna, who caught his eye and nodded. "Frû ran off," he growled to the Elf. "Nûrzgrat's gone to bring him back."

"Frûmâdûrz?" the Elf asked with surprise. Ghru only shrugged. Nodding as if he knew little could be gotten from this Uruk in particular, the Elf turned to Morkoth. "It is not safe to roam, surely he must realize. Why would he leave?"

Morkoth sighed. "He met a woman in Rohan two years back, and bonded to her. We have tried to keep him here, to protect her. But when Hontor was born, our attention... Brie was so sick... We turned our backs on him for a moment, and he ran."

"I see," the Elf said gravely. "And Nûrzgrat has gone to fetch him back?"

"He has, yes," Morkoth nodded.

"Your Nûrzgrat is respected," another Elf offered. "He possesses honor and courage. I've no doubt he will protect that woman, and bring your clan mate home."

Morkoth just nodded again, an uncomfortable look on his face.

Gwen followed her mother as Mae approached Brianna, now seated upon one of the logs and warming herself by the fire.

"How are you feeling?" she asked kindly.

"I'm very tired," Brianna sighed. "As much as I sleep, you wouldn't think I'd want more of it, but I do."

The Elf attending her smiled gently. "You have done very well, Mae. She is in good spirits and her strength is returning."

Mae seemed to straighten proudly, as if the Elf's words removed any disquiet the night's conversation left behind.

"In truth, I could not keep her in her bed," the Elf continued. "She so wanted to see everyone."

"She has entreated me often," Mae replied with a smile, "and I confess I have been less than cooperative on the matter. Now I think it is time she returned to her bed and her rest." She cast a stern look at the woman.

The Elf nodded in deference to the midwife's assessment, and said, "Yes, I think she has had all the entertainment she can manage for one day."

"You're like jailors, you doctor types," Brianna grumbled, but allowed them to assist her back to her hut.

Glancing at her father, Gwen saw the man looking from one person to another in confusion. She could imagine what he must be thinking; only last night he told his wife of the beastly qualities of Orcs, and now he was seeing them engaged in market day friendliness with Elves, of all people.

How fragile his opinions must be, if they were so easily toppled. How fragile were her _own_, she wondered as she sought out Thakûf.

One of the Elves still spoke with him, showing him what looked to be a simple fishing pole, yet clearly a strange object to the Uruk. Gwen forced herself to approach, though she would rather he were alone. As it was, her resolve was faltering now that he was near. She had been so rude to him for no better reasons than he was ugly and crude; would he forgive her for that?

Swallowing with difficulty, Gwen stood in front of Thakûf and found she could not look him in the face.

"May I... may I see them please?" she stammered, pointing. He slowly tipped the necklace into her hand. The teeth were sharp and white; he had cleaned his blood from them. She tried not to think of how they had looked while still in the badger's mouth, or what Thakûf had to do to acquire them.

As if she were lifting a stone, she raised her chin and met his eyes. She'd never noticed how close to golden they were. "You... you should wear these... proudly," she said awkwardly, and looped the necklace over his head. Patting the teeth against his chest, she added, "You earned them."

Too embarrassed by the look of surprise on his face to actually say the words _I'm sorry_, Gwen spun and fled back to the longhouse.


	16. Head Trauma is Not Your Friend

A/N: Special nugget for Dee-em-elle. :)

* * *

**Head Trauma is Not Your Friend**

Brytta woke to the sounds of birds singing and trees swaying in a gentle breeze. Light from the sun, so blindingly bright after the endless night of the caves, pierced her eyelids with painful welcome. It was over, and she was alive.

Alive but for the crushing weight upon her.

Coming sharply to full wakefulness, she realized Nûrzgrat was draped flat over her body, his lean hips nestled between her legs. A strangled scream tore from her throat and she pummeled his back, trying to squirm from beneath him.

There was no response. He might have been dead, except she could hear and feel his shallow breaths next to her ear. Slowly, she calmed herself. He weighed far too much for her to shift his dead weight from her body, and he was clearly still out cold from the beating he'd suffered.

And he _had_ suffered. She now recalled the sounds of his protestations when Fulak leaped down into the oubliette, but not so vividly as the blows he received as reward for his attempt to aid her. Over and over again, Shagal's cudgel struck the Uruk so hard and loud it echoed off the walls.

Would he even wake from such abuse?

Steadying herself, she stopped trying to shove him off her and lay her hands flat upon his back as she contemplated her next move. Her thoughts were interrupted almost immediately by what she was feeling.

She'd only briefly seen his shirtless form at the settlement before embarrassment at her own curiosity made her look away. That a creature such as he should attract her eye with his well-made, muscular body had been an affront, and one she did not wish to dwell on then _or _now. But beneath her hands, she could _feel_ what her eyes had missed; there were many long, straight scars criss-crossing his back.

A groan caught her attention, and she felt Nûrzgrat shift slightly as he began the slow ascent from unconsciousness. She willed herself to remain calm and still; he had more than proven his ability to restrain himself. Even though his member, thankfully flaccid, was pressed firmly to her sex.

Recognizing what she was feeling, she froze. Inexplicably, she found the sensation somewhat... arousing. Had it been so long since she last lay with a man? It was laughable; did she desire coupling as much as an Orc, so desperate that even someone like _Nûrzgrat_...?

Except... it wasn't 'someone _like_ Nûrzgrat.' It _was_ Nûrzgrat, and to her shock, that made a great deal of difference. She'd thought he would stand by and leave her to defend herself, as he had against the Dunlendings. He admired her swordsmanship and saw no reason to 'pick up her slack' in that area. But last night, it was... different. He was certainly in no position to come to her aid, bound as he was, yet he tried, seeming to _know_ that the situation was different. He repeatedly called down the wrath of those Orcs upon his own head in his efforts to protect her. So much so that he might never waken.

And though he'd agreed with her malicious statement that he lacked the ability to comfort a woman, when she needed him the most, he gave of himself readily. When she was in his arms, and he was murmuring his promise to her, she felt safe; she felt protected.

No _man_ had ever made her feel that way, for she never _allowed_ them to. She'd wanted to be independent, as self-sufficient as they. Yet, to be such, she had to appear _as_ a man. Men did not turn to one another for comfort in the same way a woman might, so she had schooled herself to simply _not need it_. Nûrzgrat recognized not only her martial abilities but her need for such independence, and allowed her the necessary space. Not just _allowed_ it, but _accepted_ it. As if it were the natural way of a woman to be strong and capable. Yet when she was at her most vulnerable, when she needed someone to lend her their strength, he gave it without question.

It surprised her that she felt she could bear to wait until he awoke. She didn't... mind... so much... being beneath him at the moment. She knew now she could trust him, not only with her life, but her virtue. And perhaps... more...

Awareness slowly returned to Nûrzgrat, and with it came a blinding headache. It felt like Shagal had bashed in his skull. Maybe she had. At least he'd been deposited on a soft, albeit rather lumpy, surface. And were those birds? Had he been dumped outside? Was Brytta still with him?

He opened his eyes to grass. It hurt to keep his eyes open for more than a few seconds at a time. The pain in his head slowed his thoughts and actions, but he still managed to draw a deep breath, scenting for the woman.

Good. She was close. Very close. _Extremely_ close.

With a start, he realized just _how_ close.

"Sorry!" he slurred, clumsily rolling off her body. "Didn't know I was on yuh... sorry."

"It is... all right," Brytta replied, sitting up stiffly. "They put you there. There was nothing you could have done."

He didn't want to say it, but he suspected Shagal and Fulak were sadistically inclined enough to stick his cock inside her. Just to help things along. Thankfully, though, getting his head caved in thoroughly killed that possibility. Wincing, he struggled to sit up and rubbed the back of his head. His hair was gummed with dried blood.

It seemed his mind was operating at a much slower pace. Memory gradually came back to him, of those final moments before Shagal's attack drove him into oblivion. Leaning toward Brytta, he sniffed her, checking for that _snaga_ filth's scent.

"What... what are you doing?" she asked.

Uncertain, he backed off. "I don't smell him on you. He didn't rape yuh, did he?"

She was momentarily speechless, seeing the look of concern on his weary face. The last thing he must have been aware of was her plight, and it seemed to be his first thought upon waking.

"No," she said. Feeling the need to ease his worry, she added, "I doubt he was... capable, after satisfying Shagal's demands so... frequently." He gave her an odd look, as if unsure whether she was speaking in jest or not. She ducked her head to hide her smile. "Never the less, I... kicked him."

Nûrzgrat grunted with startled amusement. "You kicked his balls?"

"Yes," she shyly confirmed. "As hard as I was able."

"Bet he didn't like that," he chuckled, flinching slightly as another wave of pain shot through his head.

"No, he did not," Brytta replied with a tired smile. Sobering, she said, "I am all right. How do you fare?"

Roughly rubbing the back of his head as if it would ease the ache, he closed his eyes against the mid-morning sun's glare. "Head hurts. Expect it will for awhile yet." Opening them again, it finally registered. "Gotta get us some clothes. I know you don't wanna be... like this... around me."

"Not... especially," she acknowledged. "But only because I am cold." Looking down at herself, she laughed. She was sitting within reach of an Uruk in broad daylight, as naked as the day she was born. In the darkness of the caves, she was relatively difficult to see. Not so anymore. "I have nothing left to hide," she said half to herself, gesturing helplessly. "And I am too tired to care."

"So am I," Nûrzgrat agreed. While her naked body was enticingly near, her manner oddly trusting, he was in too much pain for any part of him to perk up at the moment.

Hugging her knees and staring at her toes, Brytta asked, "Why did they not slay us? Or me, at the very least?"

Nûrzgrat just shrugged. He couldn't muster any of his usual sarcasm or bluster under the present circumstances. "I don't know. I'm guessin'... they wanted _me_ to do it."

Raising her head, she frowned. "Surely... they did not think _you_ would kill me? After they... surely not?" Brytta found herself unable to bring up the subject of his bond, or the Orcs' amusement at his expense. It was too... uncomfortable a topic to discuss in their current state of undress. Perhaps too uncomfortable in _any_ state.

Regardless, she suspected he wasn't aware that she knew of it. She decided now was not a good time to mention it.

Again, he shrugged. Nûrzgrat felt like his head was full of mud, so difficult was it to think. "Likely didn't wanna dirty their floors," he suggested with a slight chuckle accompanied by a flinch.

Though she had taken a blow to the head as well, her pain wasn't nearly as great as his appeared to be, and she winced with him. Yet the thought... She had to smile. "They did not strike me as the sort to be quite so... fussy."

He grimaced, but whether it was a pained smile or something else, she couldn't tell. She wondered what else he endured, and recalled, to her shame, the conclusion she drew when Shagal bore him away. Looking away, she said in a small voice, "I confess... when Shagal took you, and they spoke of what she intended, I... thought you went willingly. I did not believe the evidence of my own eyes... the look upon your face..."

Nûrzgrat forced himself to focus on her through the fog of agony. She didn't appear to be accusing or challenging him, though his judgment was admittedly poor at the moment. "Why would you think I'd wanna fuck an ugly cunt like her?" he asked.

Chagrinned, Brytta replied, "I suppose... because you are an Orc. I am sorry I thought so little of you."

He wasn't sure, but it _sounded_ like an apology. He couldn't get a firm grip on anything she was saying, much less the way she was saying it. Giving up trying, he just shrugged. "Don't matter. She didn't get nothin' outta me." Chuckling, he added, "Fulak almost did, but she didn't."

Brytta frowned, startled. "What do you mean?"

"He was... trying to fuck her... so she wouldn't try for me, I suppose," he said matter-of-factly. His head was bowed, his voice low, as if the position and the pitch lessened his headache somewhat. "It was sort of a mess, kind of confusin'. Thought he might... fuck me instead, tryin' to get to her." Again, he chuckled unconcernedly. "Wouldn't be the first time."

She was stunned by his casual statement. Things that were said to her now collided in her thoughts, painting a much clearer picture of what his life must have been like beneath the wizard's boot.

_There ain't no females._

_Every minute of every day, they're in the rut._

_Wouldn't be the first time._

Very ugly images flooded her mind. Were the Orcs of Isengard so ill-made and ill-used that not only must they defend against threats from outside, but inside as well? Was the removal of females from their entire race not grievous enough? Were they forced to prey upon one another to assuage a consuming need they were practically bred to pursue?

She shuddered. Never one to hold back a question when it formed, she looked at him and asked, "Truly? This... has happened to you before?"

Nûrzgrat's grip on the current topic of conversation was weak, leaving him unguarded in his replies. The pounding in his head was so distracting... "Just the one time. Gotta kill'em, when they do that to you. They find someone who can't fight back... luckless bastards get it all the time." He thought of Ghru, too shocked by the assault upon one of his size and strength to kill that first one. Nûrzgrat winced, remembering the decades-long suffering of the Uruk at the hands of one at a time in the beginning, then eventually gangs of them when he finally tried to defend himself. His lip curled remembering their Master's indifference to Ghru's plight, of the wizard telling him to stop snivelling and accept his new role.

"That is... horrible," Brytta whispered. She couldn't even imagine... _all the time_. How... nightmarish it must have been.

As little as a week ago, she guiltily realized she would not have cared. They were Orcs, little better than animals. No depth of depravity was out of bounds for creatures like them. But... things were different now. Brytta could no longer look at Nûrzgrat as a beast with no limits on cruelty or violence.

It was a grim revelation, acknowledging the notion that Shagal intended to force compliance from Nûrzgrat. By his own words, he did not wish to couple with the female Orc, so by definition, she would have raped him. This was shocking enough. To now find that males not only _could_, but _would_ rape other males... She did not even know how to cope with such a foul possibility.

The inevitable question came out of her before she could stop it. "Did you do this? Did you prey upon your fellows?" A thread of shame for asking such a question of _anyone_ wormed through her.

Sighing, Nûrzgrat shook his bowed head. His voice was a low rumble, getting quieter as he tried not to increase the pain simply by speaking. "No. Never did... wanna do that. I raped whiteskin females, not Orc males."

Brytta blinked. She hadn't thought she could be more shocked by anything he'd said up to now. The casual way he confessed his deeds, as though he was simply voicing his preference of sausage for breakfast rather than bacon, sent a chill through her body, and she instinctively held herself more tightly, concealing more of her naked form than she had cared to do before.

What had she expected? He was an Orc, after all. How could she possibly have allowed his embrace, even under such circumstances as they found themselves in last night?

Looking away, she hissed, "I beg your pardon? You... raped...?"

Dully, warning bells clanged in Nûrzgrat's head. This fucking headache was loosening his tongue, making him say all the wrong things. True things, perhaps, but wrong. He shook his head to clear the fog, but the jostling only made it worse. Wincing, he glanced up at her horrified face, and... sagged. He couldn't dredge up anger or defensive posturing. It hurt to _breathe_.

Maybe he could tell her _nicely_.

"Woman, that's what we _did_," he growled, flinching on nearly every word. "I raped females. I raped a lot of'em. It's what _Sharkû_ wanted us to do. I did... what I was told. Yuh learned quick not to ask stupid fuckin' questions, or say no, or even _think_ when he didn't want yuh to." Forcing his eyes to stay open and focused on hers, he said evenly, "But I don't do _none_'uh that no more. Cause I got a _choice_."

Looking into his yellow eyes, she saw pain there, not simply from his injury, but for what he had done. What he had _been_.

_Remember his promise_, she told herself. The promise he made in the pit, the one he held himself to while they were in a place where no such restraint was necessary. There were none to punish him for assaulting her. No one would have raised a hand to prevent him from raping and murdering her. They would likely have cheered his every thrust, knowing Shagal and Fulak.

Taking a deep breath, she let it out slowly. Yes, he had a choice _now_. No matter how great the temptation had been in that pit, he embraced the choice he made years ago, when his Master's hold was cut loose. Didn't Sandy say that she and Brianna came upon the Uruk-hai band shortly after Isengard was destroyed? Even so soon after being set free, Nûrzgrat made that choice.

She had to let it go, she realized. The war was over. Orcs were no longer held in sway by the Shadow. They were free to decide their own fate. Some, like those in the caves, chose not to slay one to whom they owed nothing but hate for what was done to their folk. Perhaps... they held hope that if she lived to tell of them, the efforts to destroy their race entirely would be... lessened. Perhaps if she were unharmed, she might not swear vengeance. Maybe they hoped to just be left alone.

They were a family, she realized to her shame. They were struggling to survive in a world that was trying to destroy them. They had been edged out of every area, hunted by Men... people like _her_, until they had no place left to go. They were given no choice but to dig deeper underground and hide, so they might have some measure of peace.

Yet they were still Orc enough to take sadistic pleasure in tormenting her. She could accept that, oddly enough. Compared to the price they might have demanded, it was acceptable. What was done to Nûrzgrat, however, upset her greatly. They attempted to urge him back to what he was, to take advantage of his nature and guide him toward abusing her, knowing that any harm done to her would torture him. How much worse it would be if it were _his_ hand by which she suffered.

Seeing him now, rendered calm and quiet by injury he suffered to protect _her_, not snarling and growling angrily as he had done daily since their trek began, she realized he cared for her. Was _this_ what the bond truly meant? Not simply the urge to procreate, but the need for closeness and acceptance as well? The need to give of oneself to one person, and receive such singular affection in return?

Maybe the Orcs disdained the bond Nûrzgrat had with someone like Brytta, but they knew the affects of it all too well. Did she not see soft looks exchanged between Barash and Akhûna? Was Fulak not so utterly devoted to Shagal that, though he threatened to assault Brytta several times, he seemed uninterested in doing so? Barash implied the bond was focused on one person when he told her Nûrzgrat would hound _her_, pursue _her_. Perhaps Fulak had no desire to couple with any but Shagal. Perhaps he was _incapable_ of doing so.

Profound physical agony had drawn back the shield hiding Nûrzgrat's true nature, leaving him naked before her. In the span of one night, she had learned so much of this Uruk that she realized she could see him as he was now, not as she expected him to be, or even what he _used _to be.

_How deeply he buries his beauty_, she mused, and caught herself. Swallowing the alarming thought, she finally said quietly, "I know you do not. You... proved that."

Nodding once, he rose with difficulty, steadying himself against a tree for a moment. His head swam; he'd never taken a clubbing like that before. It seemed the Uruk-hai favored body blows when fighting among themselves. Maybe _Sharkû_ advised against abuse to the head, for the body could recover better. He couldn't remember. Leave it to a _snaga_ to ignore such advice, though. It was probably in belated payment for the Uruk-hai treating them like inferior little piles of shit, he thought grimly.

Rolling his head to relieve some stiffness in his neck, he decided he certainly felt like a pile of shit himself at the moment. Lifting his blunt nose, he slowlyl drew in. The Orcs had deposited them in the middle of nowhere, it was true, and he'd likely not ever find the entrance to their hole if he looked for years, but at least the place where he and Brytta had camped wasn't too far off.

"I think... it's this way," he muttered, lurching off in a southerly direction. Brytta rose and followed.

As she walked in his wake, her eyes saw what her hands felt. The whole of his broad back, it seemed, was covered with those straight scars, clearly made by a lash. Perhaps it was a blessing that the scarring did not extend lower than his waist, though the treatment he received was otherwise thorough.

He'd said Saruman _made_ them fight for him, that they learned quickly not to question orders. Perhaps when they disobeyed, they were punished for it.

The worst punishment she'd ever endured was being sent to bed without supper. She couldn't even remember what she'd done, it had been so long ago. Seeing his tortured flesh now filled her with the startling desire to touch those scars, to sooth them with gentleness, to comfort him, though they were old scars that undoubtedly no longer pained him. But when they were given, how terribly they must have hurt.

Such thoughts as she was experiencing this morning had never entered her mind before, and she was rather disturbed and frightened by them.

An hour passed before Nûrzgrat's unerring senses of direction and scent led them to their campsite. Both breathed a sigh of relief that their packs were undisturbed, just as they'd left them. All they lacked now were their good weapons, taken by the Orcs.

"It was my father's blade," Brytta lamented after dressing herself. "Were he alive, he would no doubt be quite upset that it now rests in the hand of an Orc."

"Hmph," Nûrzgrat snorted, digging in his pack. Neither of them had shoes now. It didn't bother him much; he'd already traveled in one direction across this land barefoot. He could go in the other with as little difficulty. "Likely melt it down, use the metal. Hope they cut their fingers off messin' with mine." Finding what he was looking for, he brandished the forearm-length dagger he'd squirreled away in his pack 'for emergencies.'

Brytta smiled at him, and he looked away quickly. Though they were clothed now, and his head still pounded, he could no longer look at her and not see her naked in that pit. He couldn't think of her without feeling her body in his arms.

Pushing the thought away, he growled at himself. He knew that sort of thing would never happen again. She was desperate; that was the only reason why she grudgingly endured his embrace. He was a monster, after all. Hadn't he told her the ugly things he'd done? Now she knew, and she'd keep her distance. Likely take off as soon as they found Frû, and good riddance to her. Never see her again, thank the Powers.

Except... he now realized what Fulak said was true. He wouldn't let her get away so easily. He wouldn't be _able_ to let her go. There would be no peace for her; no moment where she could live without looking over her shoulder in fear of the Uruk who stalked her.

Gasping nearly in a panic, he roughly secured his pack and strapped the dagger to his hip.

Though it hurt to scowl, he forced it if only to hide the thoughts running through is mind. "Think we better get runnin' again. I'm tired as fuck, and I know you are too. But I wanna put some miles between us and them Orcs."

Brytta nodded. "I agree. As many as we can bear." Drawing a deep breath, Nûrzgrat led the way through the trees southeast, heading out of the foothills and back into open country.

* * *

They had to stop frequently to catch their breath, but still managed to cover nearly five leagues before nightfall. Neither could speak of what transpired in the pit, yet there seemed to be an unspoken truce, an understanding of sorts between them. Brytta no longer insulted him, and Nûrzgrat was less abrasive to her. Both were so deeply mired in their own thoughts they spared few words for one another.

Weariness halted their progress, and Nûrzgrat found a sheltered copse for their camp. Though tired beyond reckoning, he insisted on taking the first watch, and stomped out of the camp without listening to her protest. Sighing with grateful resignation at the stubborn Uruk, Brytta took her rest.

The night passed uneventfully, leaving Nûrzgrat struggling to keep his eyes open. When he could stand it no longer, he woke her then settled himself down.

"Ain't nothin' goin' on," he muttered as he shifted around, trying to find a comfortable lie. "Pretty quiet."

"I will stay close, then," she said softly. Reaching out, she warmed her hands over their small campfire. When she was certain he had drifted off to sleep, Brytta allowed herself to gaze upon him... and remember. It was not the revelations of his hellish existence or the brutal things he'd done. Her mind wandered back to the pit, the gentleness of his hands, the softness of his voice, the warmth of his body...

She had to shake herself and put an end to such musings. _Do not forget what he __**is**_, she scolded herself. _He is an Orc. He has bonded to you, and he will haunt your steps as Fr__û__ does Hengolwen's. You shant be rid of __him._

A traitorous whisper wormed its way to the forefront of her thoughts: Did she _want_ to be rid of him?

The silence in the camp was broken by a whimper, and Brytta looked sharply at Nûrzgrat. His face was twitching; small, distressed grunts were coming from him. He looked horrified, his eyes squeezed tightly shut.

Worry assailed her, and she hurried to him. Even as she knelt at his side, he sobbed, and tears began to escape and run down his face.

"Sorry... I'm sorry," he choked in a low and slurring voice. "Brytta... for-... forgive..."

Unsure what to do, for she'd been told by her elders never to wake someone in the throes of a nightmare... or perhaps it was sleepwalking... Regardless, she did not wish to disturb him. He needed sleep _so_ badly.

What could he be dreaming about? she wondered. He had done nothing to her, yet he begged _her_ forgiveness. Unlike the last time she witnessed his distress, she did not sneer at him now. Rather, she was vexed. Sandy told her Nûrzgrat never wept, yet he was doing so. Whatever he was seeing in his dreams must be so profoundly painful that he couldn't contain his grief.

For a moment, she felt compelled to gather him in her arms and comfort him. As before, the thought startled and embarrassed her. But she could not stand idly by while he suffered. She had learned a great deal about him in a short time, so much that was admirable. He had shown that he possessed qualities that – dare she admit it? – she found attractive. They were the sorts of things she had longed to find in a man. It came as a shock to recognize them in an Orc.

Firming her resolve, Brytta reached down and brushed her fingertips along his cheek. He flinched and jerked away, but did not waken. Taking a deep breath, she flattened her palm upon his cheek and gently stroked his damp temple with her thumb.

"Ssshh," she whispered gently. "It is all right, Nûrzgrat. I am here with you."

He seemed to settle under her voice and hand. Gradually, his anguish-contorted face smoothed and relaxed. His rapid breathing slowed and evened out. His lips moved, but his voice was too low to hear. Curious, Brytta leaned closer, and felt a flutter when she heard his words.

_Promise... Promise... Promise..._


	17. The Amazing Exploding Whiteskin

**The Amazing Exploding Whiteskin**

Mae fretted in the sick room as she bathed Brianna's face and urged food into her. The woman was much stronger now, and could sit up without getting light-headed. Mae even 'allowed' her to hold her daughter for short periods, for which Brianna was tearfully grateful.

The midwife had seen and heard things she never imagined could be so: Elves engaging in friendly banter with Orcs, and her own husband of twenty years transforming into... someone she no longer knew.

Faelur's reassuringly strong and stern presence in the hut now seemed dark and imposing. She found her hands shaking slightly and clenched her fists to steady them. He could do anything; she could not be sure of his actions anymore if he had hidden such thoughts from her for so long. The thinly veiled implication that he might actually resort to violence weighed heavily on her mind as well.

Brianna seemed to realize something was wrong and gave her inquisitive looks, but said nothing. The Elves' visit was brief, lasting only a few hours, then they melted into the forest. Ghru remained outside the hut long enough to reassure himself of their departure, then he returned to the house he shared with his mate, Hontor cradled in his arms and sleeping contentedly against his rumbling chest. Mae glanced up at him, sitting in his chair in the corner, utterly silent and completely absorbed by his daughter's sleeping face.

"You adore her," she heard herself saying. To her ears, her voice sounded almost wistful. There was something... comforting in Ghru's caring for his daughter, and Mae smiled warmly. Ghru looked up at her and fixed his yellow eyes upon her, intent as a predator focused on his prey. Yet Mae knew better.

"She's mine," he said simply, and went back to gazing at the child's face. Mae felt a lump rise in her throat.

"He's a big mush," Brianna said quietly, and Mae turned to see the woman smiling fondly at the two of them. "Don't let him fool you."

Faelur snorted with disbelief, and Mae flinched. She knew his disdain for the Orcs was great, no matter that they had proven time and again they were undeserving of such opinion. To her, the sight of a male from _any_ race so devoted to his child that he would unabashedly coddle her in view of another male was... endearing. And something she wished she could have seen in her _own_ home.

Meeting Brie's eyes again, Mae couldn't hide the discontent in her own.

Turning her head slightly, but not allowing herself to actually look at him, Mae said evenly, "Faelur, could you fetch me a fresh pot of water? Heated to a comfortable level, if you please."

She could feel his eyes dart across the room to the Orc, perhaps unsure about leaving her alone with him. As if the Orc had _ever_ made a threatening move toward her, which he had not. Mae suspected that if he tried, Brianna's soft voice alone would have the power to stop him in his tracks.

Apparently deciding her word was law in a sick room, or perhaps simply wanting to be anywhere else but in the presence of women, Faelur departed. Mae breathed a sigh of relief, as if a threatening presence had just left the room. Her brow furrowed with guilt at the terrible thought.

"What is _wrong_?" Brianna asked as soon as the door shut. She reached out and took a hold of Mae's hand.

Biting her lip, Mae looked into the woman's hazel eyes. It would not take long for Faelur to complete his task and return; she had little time. "Tell me... what the women are like where you come from. What... role they play. How they are treated... by men."

Brianna blinked with surprise, then sobered. The pieces suddenly fit together. "They're strong. Independent. They think for themselves. They have careers..."

Mae frowned. "What is... career?"

"Well, it's... sort of your work," Brie began thoughtfully. "What you enjoy doing, sometimes. Like you. Midwifery is your career; it's what you're called to do. Something you enjoy, that gives you satisfaction. For myself, I wanted to be a doctor."

Surprised, Mae asked, "A doctor?"

"Yes," Brie replied, then smiled. "The kind of doctor that works on... for lack of a better term, _emotional_ problems rather than physical ones. Things that can't be fixed with the right herb or a bandage. When people have pain that medicine can't fix, they need to talk about it. I wanted to be the person they came to talk to. Someone who would understand what they're going through, what may have triggered the thoughts and feelings they have. That's what I was training to do when I came here."

"Did you... were you married?" Mae asked cautiously.

"No... but I had a boyfriend," Brianna said. "He supported me while I was at school, helping with the bills and whatnot."

"And he did not have any objection to you seeking such a... career?"

"No," Brianna said, shaking her head. Eying her carefully, Brianna said, "Faelur doesn't have a problem with _your_ work, does he?"

A stoney look came over Mae's face. "Of course, he doesn't," she said coldly. "It is... appropriate for a woman."

"That doesn't sound very... supportive," Brianna commented dryly.

"Brianna," Mae said, her voice too controlled and even to be concealing a calm demeanor, "I have been married to... that man for twenty years. In the span of one night, I discovered something about him that has made me wonder... whom I have lain next to all these years."

"What happened?" Brianna asked urgently, taking up Mae's other hand. The woman's even-tempered facade was beginning to crumble.

"He spoke of... his confrontation with Sandy," she said haltingly, "in such terms... I feared that he may... he may grow violent if such a disagreement should come between them again. Surely, if he were to raise a hand against her, Morkoth would not let him live."

"Mae, she had a boyfriend who used to beat the hell out of her," Brianna said. "I don't think Morkoth would get a shot in before she took him down. He hasn't threatened her, has he?"

"Not to her face, but he was truly angry that she stood up to him," Mae replied. "That she seemed ready to strike _him_. He claimed... an urge to respond in kind. I do not... agree with what he thinks, but I do not know what to do. I am... stunned, and I do not understand why he feels this way."

"What did he _say_, exactly?"

Sighing, Mae repeated the words, the phrases... She described the sneer in his voice at any mention of the Orcs' allowance to _their_ partners' independence and freedom. "He has concealed such... opinions from me for all these years. What _else_ lies hidden? I do not know him anymore. And I cannot...," she began, then faltered. Turning imploring eyes to Brie, she said, "I fear him, as I have never done before. I do not wish to be... _with_ him."

"Fucking whiteskins," Ghru growled from the corner. He'd been so quiet, the women forgot his presence entirely. Both were startled when he broke his silence. "Liars. Deceivers. Can't trust'em."

Brianna arched her brow. "You seem to forget whom you're mated with, darling."

The scarred Uruk snorted and shrugged. "You are different," he said, as if that sort of detail was immaterial. "I've seen it among the Dunlendings. Don't value their females. Not enough. Maybe we took them for our Master, but they made no effort to get them back. When we raided Rohan by their side, they were... brutal to the females."

"Ghru," Brianna said softly, warningly. She nodded her head toward Mae, who looked stricken. Though he hadn't said the words, the implications were there just beneath the surface.

Again, Ghru shrugged. "They spoke of their females as though they were property. Used them for barter to gain land, horses, to seal treaties with other tribes... I do not think the females had any say in such matters."

Mae briefly closed her eyes and covered her mouth with her hand. Taking a deep breath, she looked at the impassive Orc, gently stroking the fuzzy head of his child, and felt ill. "We... have done the same," she finally said, her voice quaking from the realization. "We arranged a match between our daughter and a man my husband does business with. He is fully twice her age. We negotiated her dowry, and the disposition of our goods in exchange for his... _business_. A contract... dependent upon her... innocence. I hadn't thought of it... but you are right. My own daughter... A commodity to be traded... Worthy of such... commerce only if she is... unspoiled."

Brianna squeezed the distraught woman's hands. "It's not completely unheard of, even where I come from. There are some cultures that arrange marriages between their children for... whatever reason. Political or economical ties... There are likely a lot of reasons for it. If it's the way things are done, of course you wouldn't even blink an eye."

"My own marriage was arranged, but... it wasn't the same," Mae said. "Our families had long been friendly. It was only natural to strengthen such ties by joining the two eldest."

"You and Faelur?"

Mae nodded. "Yes. I suppose I was fond of him. In truth, I did not question the match. It was the way of things. He was... kind enough. Then."

"Has he ever... harmed you in any way?" Brianna carefully asked.

"No. But I have not challenged him, either." Glancing at the door, she whispered, "Now I am afraid to."

"What about the man he wants Gwen to marry? Where is he?" Brianna asked.

"Serondaen went to war, and he did not return. Now I am glad of it," Mae said quietly, her head bowed in shame for such thoughts. "She should marry one she loves, not one she is... sold to."

"Yes, she should," Brianna said gently. "I agree with you there. Do you think she could have loved this man?"

Mae winced and shook her head. "He was a wanton. She would bear his children and his faithlessness."

"Well, I think she hasn't come off too badly in the deal, if he's... dead or settled elsewhere," Brianna observed. "I think she's fortunate, don't you?"

"Yes, I do," Mae replied. "Most fortunate."

* * *

Gwen sat on the riverbank next to Thakûf, watching the bobber in the water with the same eager anticipation he did. Sandy had suggested they have a go at fishing, and though the activity was a foreign one to the Uruk-hai, the rudimentary lessons provided by the Elves had at least intrigued them. Gwen was fairly sure, however, that the hook should be baited with... something. Else why would the fish pursue it?

Perhaps it didn't matter. They were alone and able to talk without worrying about her father breathing down their necks or advising her to be 'proper.' Nothing was said between them about the necklace of teeth, but a certain understanding was shared now.

The conversation between her parents still worried her. Gwen looked at the Orc beside her and wondered what _he_ thought on the matter.

"Thakûf," she said timidly. Ignoring the bobber, Thakûf turned his full attention on her. The intensity of his gaze was slightly intimidating. Or perhaps it was just the odd color of his eyes...

"Yeah?" he prompted when she seemed unable to speak for a moment.

"I was wondering," she said carefully. "What do you think of a woman's place? What should she be allowed to do?"

He arched his brows curiously. Not being particularly savvy about conversations with folk outside his clan, he wouldn't recognize a loaded question if it hit him in the face. So Thakûf provided his honest opinion.

"A woman's place is in the world," he said, looking back at the bobber with a shrug. "She should be allowed to do what she is able to do."

"Truly?" she asked, a little surprised. He glanced at her with a furrowed brow.

"Why wouldn't she be?" he asked, as if it were obvious.

Sighing, she said, "Of course, you know Sandy. I do not think she would be the sort to allow a man to tell her what to do."

Thakûf snorted with amusement. "Shoulda seen the whiteskins that caught her back two years ago. They hurt her, sure enough, but she sent that one's balls into his throat." He laughed at the memory. "Taught him not to beat on a female, that's for sure."

Staring at him wide-eyed, she whispered, "My goodness. She... oh my."

Grinning, Thakûf related the story of how Sandy was taken by Rohirrim soldiers and abused in their efforts to gain knowledge of the Orcs with whom she travelled. "She looked awful. Nûrzgrat 'bout got himself run through, goin' out there to teach'em a lesson about manners. Told that captain to fight _him_ if he thought himself so strong. But no, maybe you need _me_ tied up since you tied up Sandy, eh?" He squeezed his eyes shut, howling with laughter. "Shoulda seen the look on his face."

"Wait, wait...," Gwen said, alarmed. "They tied her up and _then_ beat her? Men of _Rohan_ did this?"

"Yeah," he nodded, sobering with difficulty. "Yeah. Morkoth was _so_ mad. When he thought her lost, he wept. Never seen him do that over _nothin'_. Then he saw what they did to her... He almost went for'em, but Sandy stopped him. Then _she_ kicked the captain's balls." Another explosive laugh burst out of him. "Saw blood runnin' down his leg. Bet he can't make no more whelps!"

Gwen tried very hard to find the humor in his story, and perhaps had she been there, she might have recognized it herself. But the fact of the matter was that a man of Rohan beat an unarmed, bound woman. She was terribly uncomfortable about that. And Thakûf was _laughing_ over the incident...

"I do not think it is funny that such a thing happened to Sandy," she said stiffly.

Thakûf stifled his humor and nodded with chagrin. "Ain't funny, I know. If you'd been there... Had to laugh when it was all over, cause we sure as fuck weren't laughin' when it happened. Me and Raz... well, he was cryin' like a baby, and I sort of... a little bit myself. Everything was kind of a mess. Brianna'd just killed Nûlkol, so we..."

"What?" Gwen interrupted incredulously. "_Brianna_ killed someone?"

"Yeah. Nûlkol. He was a piece of shit," Thakûf said. "Tried to get me to help him do things that weren't nice." He grimaced and looked away. "Used to do it, too. Didn't know no better, I guess. Well, he did rape on Ghru that day, and Brianna..."

"Oh my," Gwen breathed in horror. "He... what?"

"He did rape. On Ghru," Thakûf repeated.

She recoiled, grimacing with disgust. Thakûf wondered, too late, if he should have kept that part to himself.

"Nûlkol was rotten," he said carefully. "Did things Nûrzgrat said he shouldn't oughta. None of the others liked him, so they didn't mind so much when Brianna killed him. Nûrzgrat said he shoulda done it himself."

"He... did that to _Ghru_?" she whispered. It was too horrible a thing to say loudly.

"Yeah," Thakûf replied, nodding. "Knocked him senseless and... Yeah. Stupid fuck bragged about it in camp, and Brianna stuck him with Ghru's knives. Real good throws," he said thoughtfully. "One in the gut, one in the throat. He bled a lot."

"Please tell me this was not the 'funny' part of the story," Gwen said.

"Naw," Thakûf said, shaking his head. "The _funny_ part was..." He furrowed his brow. "Well, the only funny bit was seein' Nûrzgrat tellin' a bunch of whiteskins they don't know how to treat a lady right. Cause... they think _we_ don't. I suppose the rest of it weren't so funny."

"Well, when you put it like that...," Gwen allowed weakly, "I suppose that... _small_ part... _is_ funny." A little smile curved her mouth.

Thakûf met her eyes and a little grin sneaked across his own face. Then they heard the approach of someone with no woodslore whatesoever. The smiles were still on their faces when they glanced over their shoulders at the newcomer.

* * *

Faelur grumbled to himself as he left the shelter in search of a cooking pot. A serviceable one was next to the firepit in the center of the settlement, so he headed in that direction to fetch it. Near the smoldering coals sat the two younger Orcs, engrossed in their rabbits. The female child was holding one, rubbing its soft fur against her cheek, while the male scrabbled at the ground, teasing one into batting at his clawed fingers. He couldn't see the whereabouts of the third, and assumed the vile little beasts must have eaten it.

Curling his lip, he took the pot into the woods.

He was truly bereft in this place, if the only one with even a modicum of understanding was his wife. She, at least, understood her place and position, and did not challenge him particularly. Oh, she had risen in defense of the women in this place, quite unacceptably, but he was confident he would hear no more of it. He'd made his disapproval clear, and she had never been the sort to push a defined boundary. Why had he never confided in Mae before now? He supposed it must take such extreme circumstances to drive him to _her_ for relief from his burdens. Perhaps he should consult with her more often, particularly where Gwen was concerned. The ignorant girl was clearly being influenced by _that woman_ and would likely begin putting on airs, thinking herself the equal of men. Or worse, become friendly with that foul Orc youth.

Faelur had grudgingly allowed that the Orcs in the camp were... _somewhat_... better than animals. Not by much. Yet the Elves' arrival and apparent friendliness with the monsters was nearly an irreconcilable anomoly.

On the other hand, were the Elves not mysterious and cunning themselves? None knew any personally, of those with whom he had business dealings. They were rarely seen in Bree-Land, less so in any of the towns of Men he knew of. In fact, he'd not heard even once of an Elf making his presence known in Bree-town itself, which, situated on the Greenway, was a major thoroughfare for all manner of folk.

Shaking his head, he couldn't fathom it. All he knew of Elves was that they were the enemy of Orcs, yet he saw with his own eyes a gaggle of them consorting openly with the beasts. Passing out _trinkets_ to the youngest, no less. He wished he could ignore such displays, but the strangeness of it was disconcerting, and he did not know the answer to such a riddle.

What he could _not_ ignore was his own daughter's defiance. Seeing her sidle up to the beast and _touch_ him, in full view of the Elves, filled him with anger and dread. It mattered little that he had not expressly forbidden her to interact with the Orc; he'd assumed such prohibitions were unnecessary. Now it seemed _that woman_ had gotten her hooks into the poor girl. He would have to step in before worse damage was done.

Such horrible misdeeds as committed by _that woman_ and her friend, bearing the abominable get of those beastly creatures... Deny it all they wanted, but _he_ knew they put on brave faces to hide their humiliation at the hands of those things. He did not even want to imagine his own daughter so afflicted.

His concern for Gwen as his child was understood, and barely required conscious thought. What _did_ bubble up to the surface was the somewhat irrational fear that her innocence... her _virginity_... was threatened. This was not something that would mend once broken; it was not something Mae could sew back together again after an indiscretion. Such a concern had never been his until now. Gwen was always a very chaste girl. He knew for certain that Serondaen, a very experienced man in such matters, had never been compelled to do more than kiss the girl's hand. She hadn't enticed him in any way, and so her innocence was assured. Faelur had a moment of concern when she engaged Berendir so openly, but luck was with him on that score; no opportunity for them to be alone surfaced, and then the foolish man allowed himself to be slain.

Then _that woman_ and her wantonness came along... flaunting her wickedness before his impressionable daughter... showing off her bastard child as though such a monstrosity were something to be proud of...

There was so much _sin_ in this settlement, Faelur could not cope with it all. Worse than a brothel, it was, and his poor child was caught in the middle of it.

His agitation was high when he emerged at the riverbank and beheld his daughter sitting side-by-side with that vile Orc... _smiling_. Grinning as though they shared a secret...

"What are you doing here?" he barked furiously. "You were supposed to be helping Sandy!"

Surprised by his tone, Gwen recoiled slightly. "I was, but she wanted to speak with Morkoth, so she suggested I..."

"She sent you alone to the woods with _him_, did she?" he snarled, jerking his chin toward Thakûf.

"Just for fishing," the Orc said quietly, afraid to rile the man further. It didn't seem to help.

"Fishing my eye!" he roared, and threw the cook pot on the ground. Grabbing Gwen by the arm, he yanked her to her feet. Thakûf swiftly rose as well. "Did he lay hands on you?"

"No!" Gwen cried fearfully. "He hasn't touched me!"

"A likely story," Faelur growled, looking her over. Her dress was clean and had no tears that might imply assault, but their absence only proved his suspicions. "What has he done to you? What did you _let_ him do?"

Taken aback, Gwen's mouth tried to form words, but none came. Her father's face contorted with greater fury at her speechlessness. "Answer me! Have I but arrived _after_ he has had his way with you?"

"We didn't do nothin'!" Thakûf yelled, beginning to panic. He could smell the change in the whiteskin's scent; the smell frightened him. Not fear for himself, but for Gwen.

Faelur spared him a hateful glance. "You are in this with _her_, that vile woman. Have you conspired with her to bed my daughter? Is that what you malefactors are up to? _Is it_?" Thakûf's mouth slammed shut and he just stared at the man as though nothing that came from his mouth was in a language he understood.

Turning on Gwen, Faelur glared at her wide-eyed face and snarled, "It is what you want, is it? Because _that woman_ has told you it is, and stupid little brat that you are, you believed her."

"I... father, I..."

"_Silence_!" he roared. "I will not have the future of this family ruined by your reckless wantonness. Think you that spreading your legs for an _Orc_ will win you reknown?"

Gwen's eyes widened even further and her mouth fell open. Her cheeks reddened with shock at the accusation. "I did _not_..."

Faelur slapped her so hard across the face she staggered backwards a few paces. Thakûf didn't know what to do. She was his friend, and he wanted to defend her, but this was her _father_. He had never seen a woman struck before his eyes, had never even _heard_ of it happening between father and daughter. They were _family_; how could Faelur _do_ this? Was it Thakûf's place to interfere? Defend her from her own _father_? Why was this even _happening_? He just did not know, and stood frozen in shock.

"Your wickedness has cost us _everything_," Faelur hissed, glaring at his sobbing daughter. "You have taken away _every_ opportunity we may have had to establish our name in Gondor. And for _what_? A tryst with an Orc?" He spat upon her. "Bear him a child, and you shall be _no_ child of_ mine_."

"Is that all I am to you?" Gwen choked, pushing the hair from her face and looking at him through tear-filled eyes. "Is that all I am _worth_? Am I simply property you can sell to better _yourself_?"

"You are my _daughter_!" Faelur bellowed. "Until you are properly wed, _until I give you to another_, you will go where I _tell_ you to go, you will do what I _tell_ you to do. That is your place as my child."

"Sandy said I am a woman, and I can make my own decisions," she said shakily. "I have decided to be his friend, and that is _all_. I will not _let_ you give me away to _anyone_ of your choosing. I am no longer your _property_, and I will not be bartered in a _business deal_."

Mention of Sandy was a mistake. Faelur roared furiously, and punched Gwen in the face. She toppled over completely, and lay still.

Breathing heavily, he stared down at his daughter, sprawled on the ground, unconscious. A wholly unfamiliar sensation was coursing through him, and he flexed his hand a few times.

Power. Where he had never had it in quite this way before, the taste of it filled him now. With it came guilt for what he'd done to attain it, but it was weak by comparison.

A moment passed before he recalled the Orc, standing stricken nearby. Glowering at the beast, Faelur sneered, "Go on. You've had her once. I suspect you'll want her again. It is what your kind do, after all." Spinning on his heel, he stalked back to the settlement, the pot forgotten.


	18. The End of the Chase

**The End of the Chase**

Morning dawned cold, a thick dew upon the grass as well as their shoulders as Nûrzgrat and Brytta trudged onward. Though his headache was somewhat lessened by half a night's sleep, his troubles were not. He'd seen her again; the dead woman with Brytta's face. There had been no merciful waking this time; he'd helplessly watched the whelp taken and slain. He had thought the idea was abhorrent enough when it was the child of a nameless female he'd last seen twenty-five years before. This was so much worse, for it was _their_ whelp. His and Brytta's.

And he had eaten it, as he had _always_ done.

Shame and guilt consumed him, and he could say nothing to her now. It must be a warning, he thought. The dream had plagued him, in one horrific form or another, for most of his life. The question had changed from 'what would I have done' to 'what will I _do_?' The answer terrified him like no other thing ever had.

Fulak told him his grip would slip, and he'd turn on her. He wouldn't be able to resist the pull. He'd rape her one day. He'd put that hate in her eyes and a whelp in her belly. And then he would eat it... because he was a monster.

There would be no where for her to run, no place far enough away that he wouldn't find her... and do it again.

He wished the headache would get worse rather than better, for with such a fog of pain, he'd been unable to think clearly. Yes, he'd said a lot of terrible things, and bared his soul to someone other than Brianna for the first time, but he couldn't _think_. He didn't have to _remember_. Maybe he wouldn't dream either.

Even as he thought it, his vision began to blur. Dizzyness hit him and he faltered, slowing to a stop. Brytta halted as well, and looked at him with concern. Then her eyes widened and she lunged for him. He had no idea what that was about.

The next thing he knew, he was lying on his back in the tall grass, Brytta's terrified face hovering over him.

"Thank goodness!" she said with obvious relief. "You... I have never seen anything like it. I was so frightened."

He blinked a few times, then became aware of a host of sensations he hadn't been feeling before. He was nauseous to the point of needing to vomit. His entire body ached, as though he had been engaged in a brutal, lengthy fight. And he was _so tired_.

The relief on Brytta's face was completely baffling. He opened his mouth to ask what the fuck her problem was, but he couldn't seem to form words for a moment.

"Whuh... hunh...," he gasped incoherently. Panic assailed him, for he couldn't move his arms or legs. His body trembled as his eyes darted around.

"Easy now," Brytta said gently, though he could see just as much confusion in her eyes as he felt. "Be still."

Focusing on her face, he tried to calm himself. He had no idea what happened to him, or why his body had abandoned him. Struggling to swallow, he felt his gorge rise with tremendous force. She seemed to grasp what was coming, and hastily rolled him onto his side.

Nûrzgrat had never in his life vomited so hard. He feared his bowels would come out his mouth. By the time the spasms eased, he found he was able to rub his face with a shaky hand. Brytta helped him sit up and drink some water.

"Are you... how do you feel?" she whispered, her brow still furrowed anxiously.

He knew he shouldn't be angry with her, but he _was_ angry. Something happened that he had no control over, had taken him unawares, and left him bereft of his memory. He might have been back under his Master's sway. Worse still was losing the use of his body. What if it had happened when they were in the caves? What if he'd been unable to defend Brytta? Or, to be honest, _less_ able, since he hadn't really been very effective as it was.

"What the fuck happened to me?" he snarled.

"I do not know," she said, shrugging helplessly. "As I said, I have not seen... You stopped running, and you had a distant look in your eyes. I did not know what was wrong, if you had picked up some... scent or other. I could not be sure. Then you began to... tip over. I tried to stop you from going down, or ease your fall, but... I am afraid you are too heavy."

"I... fainted?" he spat, partly furious but mostly humiliated. "I fucking _fainted_?"

Flinching, she shook her head. "No. You... fell, and... began to... your body..." As she spoke, the memory alone seemed to frighten her, and her eyes widened. "You... shook... all over... but it was worse than... You were clearly not cold. I was put in mind of a horse being tamed, how they... buck to dislodge their tamer. I tried to calm you, but you seemed unable to hear me, though I shouted, and... your eyes..."

He didn't want to hear any more, and turned sharply away. He'd lost consciousness when the Shadow was destroyed, but no one mentioned anything about... _this_ reaction. Maybe it was different. His head was still in excruciating pain, though somewhat relieved by the rest he'd had. Had Shagal somehow left him damaged?

With a start, he wondered if this would happen again.

His limbs seemed to be back in use, and he employed them swiftly. Lurching to his feet, he started walking. They had to get on their way. They had things to do. He had to stop Frûmâdûrz. He had to...

"Nûrzgrat," Brytta said quietly. "The other way."

Quivering with rage, he barked at her, but diverted himself in the direction she pointed.

A mile later, he realized it was the first time he'd ever heard her call him by his name.

* * *

By nightfall, Nûrzgrat's anger over his collapse had lessened somewhat. Again, he insisted on taking the first watch. It was not because he wasn't tired; he just didn't want to dream again. Brytta didn't argue with him, likely because he'd been snappish all day. At every rest, she'd given him pitying looks, and stared at his eyes as if they would do something odd at any moment.

He thought she'd lost her spirit in the pit, that she had retreated to a position of weakness with him. One too many growling retorts taught him otherwise.

Unable to stand his belligerent attitude a moment longer, Brytta put her fists to her hips and glared hotly at him. "Don't you _dare_ blame me for what happened to you!"

"I ain't blamin' yuh, woman!" he barked. "Quit yer coddlin'. I ain't a whelp cuttin' teeth. I'm _fine_."

"You are _not_ 'fine,'" she snapped. "Your eyes say different."

"My _eyes_," he snorted. "What the fuck are my _eyes_ sayin'?"

Firming her lips impatiently, she pointed to each. "_This_ eye is normal, but _this_ one has a larger spot in the center." She pointed at her own eyes. "I have black spots in the center of my eyes. Yours have the same. The spots are _supposed_ to be of equal size."

Frowning, he looked away. "So... what's that mean?" he asked quietly.

Sighing, she shook her head. "I do not know. It is not... normal, so it must mean there is something wrong. _What_, I have no idea. Perhaps... what Shagal did... the beating she gave... damaged you somehow," Shrugging helplessly, she repeated, "I do not know."

Glancing up, he met her gaze and found he couldn't bear it. Shame for a different reason made him look away. "Sorry," he muttered.

"I should think so," she snapped, then seemed to relent. "We need a good, long rest, the both of us. This has been... very difficult," she said awkwardly. "I will be glad when it is over."

"You and me both," he replied in an undertone. "I know where we are. Oughta be gettin' to that village tomorrow. If we're lucky, the little fuckwit'll still be there, trying to figure out which way to go."

* * *

Luck was not with them as they warily approached the charred and weathered remains of the village. Nûrzgrat hadn't expected much else; it was torched by those Dunlendings. Every last building had been in flames when he and his band arrived. With so many of their folk off fighting in the war, there was no chance the seventeen of them could manage rebuilding, so they had gathered what little could be salvaged and headed southeast to another village known to the Riders, Merol and Haelm.

It seemed no one had come back to rebuild the village in the last two years.

In spite of the ruin's emptiness, it still held one thing that gave Nûrzgrat hope: Frû's scent was everywhere. There was no pile of debris or collapsed house he hadn't investigated, leaving a scent trail behind. Nûrzgrat didn't even wonder what that might mean as he followed it.

"This is... the village?" Brytta asked uncertainly. "The one you and the others saved?"

He snorted distractedly as he shifted a rotted post blocking the doorway of the longhouse. "Aye. Didn't save _this_ shit, of course. Just the people. Females. Younglings."

Brytta looked around her. Knowing something about Nûrzgrat now, she was not nearly as surprised as she had been when Sandy told her of this. How shocked those people must have been, fighting for their lives only to receive aid from the unlikeliest of places.

Much as _she_ felt when Nûrzgrat turned on those bandits...

The longhouse was a gutted shell. There was nothing left but the walls and part of the naked timbers of the roof. Yet Nûrzgrat seemed to be intently focused, as if Frû's scent were strongest in this place. He snuffed here and there, but aimed relentlessly for a gaping hole in the floor.

His breath quickened. Of course, Frû would seek out the place she'd hidden. Probably thinking she left some token or other down there. Grimacing, he descended the charred, rickety stairs into the pitch dark cellar.

Not much interested in walking blindly into such a place, no matter what Nûrzgrat's nose was telling him with regards to enemies, Brytta fashioned a torch from the shard of a shattered beam and followed. The flickering flame cast wild shadows on the earthen walls, revealing barrels and crates the former residents must not have been able to remove when they left.

This was it, she realized. The place where Frû bonded to Hengolwen and sealed his fate. Scanning the cellar, she found Nûrzgrat staring at a collection of oddments in a corner, and approached him warily. There was something in the way he stood... the set of his shoulders, his bowed head...

Maybe Brytta didn't know what it was, but _he_ did. Frû had built a nest. It wasn't just a heap of random things, either; he'd smelled the boy all over the place, as if Frû had visited every single ruin, scoured it, dug through the ashes. Everything here, though charred and blackened from the fires, belonged to a female. Dresses, brushes, frilly blankets... Nûrzgrat could see the depression of Frû's body where he'd undoubtedly curled around the wadded up chemise still lying there.

A wave of grief washed over him, and he sagged against the wall. He didn't want to pick up that chemise. He didn't need to. That was Hengolwen's. Somehow, Frû had found the one thing left in the village that belonged to her, and he held it close. How long had he stayed here? A day? Two? By the strength of his lingering scent, likely two.

"That is hers, isn't it?" Brytta asked quietly beside him. He hadn't even realized she was there, as if the light source just _was_.

"Yeah," he said gruffly.

"Why did he not take it with him?"

He shrugged. "Woulda confused things, carryin' somethin' that smelled like her. Likely just... remindin' himself..."

He felt her looking at him, and turned. Tears spilled from her eyes, as if Frû's nest were the saddest thing she'd ever seen. She shook her head. "No. He didn't forget, did he? He couldn't."

"No," he acknowledged, clenching his jaw. "He couldn't."

_This will be me_, Nûrzgrat realized. _She'll leave, and I'll chase her because I can't bear another moment without her. I'll be in a place like this, huddled in a corner, desperate to find her... clinging to something of hers like I'll die if I don't..._

He didn't want to face that. With grim surety, he knew he'd rather die.

Turning away, he strode back to the stairs and stormed out. Wiping her damp cheeks on her sleeve, Brytta stumbled after him.

Mere moments told Nûrzgrat that Frû figured it out. Either he caught a whiff of her on the wind, or he saw someone pointing back then and remembered it once he was here again.

"He's got the scent," Nûrzgrat informed Brytta. "Ten leagues is what Haelm said. You up for a run?"

Brytta eyed him carefully, and nodded. "I think we shall both be... glad to put this place behind us."

"Offends you, does it?" he growled.

Narrowing her eyes, she growled right back. "I think it is _sad_. He clearly suffers. Deny it if you like, but you were moved by what you saw. You call him vile names and promise him harm for putting you through this, but he is one of your own. You pursue him as much for his sake as for hers."

"Didn't think you gave a fuck about him," Nûrzgrat snarled, his teeth bared in a challenging manner.

"Perhaps I see things differently now," she retorted, then turned away.

* * *

They were only able to cover ten miles before the sun disappeared in the west and night fell. Nûrzgrat chafed, knowing that they were hot on the bastard's trail. He could smell Frû much more strongly now. Nûrzgrat half expected to run right over him in the tall grasses, yet they were likely still half a day behind.

Watching Brytta sleeping by the fire made Nûrzgrat long for that fucking pit. He felt again the softness of her skin against his rough hide, like the silks the Elves brought the previous year. Nothing made by the Elves could compare, though.

Why had holding her in his arms calmed him? He still didn't know. But then, he had no idea how he'd managed to keep from fucking her bloody either, as Fulak predicted he would. It had pained him so terribly, forcing that urge aside. The throbbing need to mate... not _fuck_, but _mate_, he realized, had been all-consuming.

But it wasn't _all_. If he wanted fucking and nothing else, Shagal would have been more than happy to accommodate him. It was certainly not all that Morkoth and Ghru wanted from _their_ mates.

He started suddenly. It had never occurred to him in all of the last two years, but it hit him like a blow to the head now. Those two Uruks were _bonded_ to Sandy and Brianna. How had he never seen it? When the fuck had it happened?

More importantly, why did he and Frû suffer such torment, when Morkoth and Ghru obviously didn't, and to his best recollection, never had?

Closing his eyes, Nûrzgrat dragged his mind back to those early days, when the women first arrived. Morkoth had insisted the women not be raped. When told to choose one as a mate, he immediately pointed to Sandy. Brianna was then given to Ghru, though at the time the Uruk was unable to breed even if he'd wanted to.

Now that Nûrzgrat thought about it, Ghru refused to look Brie in the face for the longest time. Once in awhile, he couldn't avoid it, but mostly he kept his eyes averted. Nûrzgrat now understood why; dangerous things, the eyes of a female.

Yet obviously it hadn't mattered in the end. Ghru was struck just as hard as Morkoth was. Likely because Ghru was nearly as old as Nûrzgrat, and therefore just as Orcish, he'd sought to mark Brie as his own. Nûrzgrat now remembered how _furious_ he'd been, as if it were _him_ doing the biting, not Ghru. He knew well what came of such things. They were _Uruk-hai_. They didn't _get_ mates; didn't know what to do with them or how to treat them. Certainly not how to mark them properly. A _snaga_ wouldn't have ripped his mate apart, because what the fuck good would _that_ do? Show anyone interested that _this_ corpse is _yours_?

He'd beaten the fuck out of Ghru that day, and the giant Uruk took it without a fight. He didn't even defend himself when Frû and Nûlkol piled on. Nûrzgrat knew at the time that Ghru felt he deserved it, but only now he realized _why_. Ghru failed to protect his mate. He'd allowed harm to come to her. That it was _he_ who inflicted the injury was exponentially worse.

So it had also been for Morkoth; when Sandy was captured by the Rohirrim, he watched the hulking Uruk fall to pieces. Again, the failure to protect his mate, coupled with the belief that he would never see her again, nearly destroyed him. Even before that, when some argument or misunderstanding between the two of them set them apart, and Nûrzgrat had been called upon to keep the woman warm one night, Morkoth came to him and demanded her return. Nûrzgrat remembered now that the expression on the younger Uruk's face had been the sort of look he'd seen from an Uruk on the verge of tearing another's arms off and beating them to death with their own limbs.

But there had never been the sort of suffering Frû and Nûrzgrat were going through. Things had been... different. Sandy had developed an attraction to Morkoth early on, and Brie had been drawn to Ghru in spite of his treatment of her. The desire was felt on _both_ sides. Perhaps that made all the difference in the world.

* * *

Urgency spurred them on the next morning. Nûrzgrat was practically shaking from head to toe, wondering what they would find. Rests were shorter than usual, as was his temper.

So focused on Frû's scent he could detect nothing else, Nûrzgrat nearly led them into a party of guards on patrol duty around the perimeter of the village. Brytta was obliged to yank him into concealment and cover his mouth with her hand lest his bark of protest escape and give away their presence.

"Hush!" she whispered sharply. Thankfully, they were far enough off still that the horses weren't overtly disturbed by Nûrzgrat's scent. "Which way now?" she asked quietly.

Chagrinned, Nûrzgrat huffed. "Think he ran off this way," he growled, pointing to the north end of the village. He was about to rise and continue the chase when Brytta grasped his arm.

"Wait," she said, scanning the village less than a half mile away.

"What the fuck for?" he snarled in an undertone. "He's close. We're almost on'im."

"No, _look_," she said, nodding. "There is nothing happening. Surely if an Orc stormed into the village in pursuit of a woman, there would be a panic, do you not think?"

Nûrzgrat grudgingly looked. It was true; the folk in the village were about their errands and chores as if they hadn't a care in the world. Nûrzgrat had seen villages afflicted by a sudden influx of Orcs; they certainly never looked _this_ calm.

"He might have found her alone," Brytta continued distractedly, as if she were thinking aloud. "We need to be cautious, but swift. Lead on." The two circled the village to the north side, Nûrzgrat's keen senses focused on Frû's strengthening scent trail.


	19. A Moment of Weakness

**A Moment of Weakness**

Thakûf couldn't move for several moments. Was this what it looked like when those Rohirrim beat Sandy? Gwen was right; it wasn't funny _at all_. Getting cuffed on the back of the head by an impatient, grumpy Nûrzgrat was nothing like this. While it wasn't as bad as the roughing up Nûlkol used to get, it was bad enough.

And he stood by. He let it happen.

Sinking weakly to his knees, Thakûf gathered the girl in his arms and held her close. Tears of shame filled his eyes. He'd _let_ this happen! Maybe he was too shocked to stop the first blow, but the second... he should have done _something_, not stand there like a lump!

Cradling her in his arms, he made himself look at her face, at the handprint beginning to fade as the bruise blossomed. He failed her. Father or not, Faelur did wrong, Thakûf knew it was wrong, and he didn't do anything about it. Bowing his head, he pressed his cheek to hers and wept.

* * *

Faelur's anger sustained him all the way back to the settlement, only beginning to fade once he arrived. Ignoring the beastlings that looked up from their play, he ducked into the longhouse and slammed the door.

His first unmuddled thought was, how could he strike his daughter so? He had never raised a hand against the child before. He felt slightly ill that he should have allowed the rage he felt to consume him to the point where violence seemed the only recourse.

She disrespected him, he reminded himself as he paced the floor. Gwen made her choice by following the lead of that reprehensible woman rather than _his_ guiding hand. She should expect rough treatment from now on, if she chose to consort with Orcs and their whores.

He'd always prided himself in his even temperament, his firm handling of the gentler sex. His approach had always been subtle. Let the poor things think they made the decision themselves; they were more easily managed if they believed themselves in control.

Now it seemed that subtlety was not nearly as effective with Gwen as it had always been with Mae. He would not have resorted to such extreme measures if she hadn't pushed him beyond his limits with her back talk and defiance.

He likely would not have raised a hand in violence _at all_ if not for those beasts surrounding him day in and day out. Those Orcs... their ways were vicious and remorseless. Had he not seen them put to death in the village? Were their deeds not described in lurid detail? Made like animals, they were, with claws and sharp teeth. They were known to feast upon the flesh of Men as well. He had no doubt _this_ lot had done as much, likely worse.

Depraved indeed. And their chief harlot was determined to stain Gwen with the same filth in which _she_ wallowed. How long would it be before Mae was also afflicted?

Starting with alarm, he wondered if the sick woman worked upon Mae the same way. Perhaps when that... whatever the monstrous leader's name was... when _he_ returned, he would lay claim to Faelur's wife! And because of the insidious nature of these fallen women, Mae would embrace the beast as readily as Gwen!

He had to get them out of here, Faelur realized, staggering to the bed to sit down. He rubbed his forehead roughly. They _had_ to leave, whether that sick woman died ten heartbeats later or not.

But what of Gwen? He raised his head, suddenly stricken. He'd left her alone with that monster. He dimly recalled her denial of any wrongdoing – as if she would even consider an indiscretion of this magnitude as 'wrong' if _Sandy_ was influencing her. Yet perhaps... there was a _chance_, however slim, that her innocence was still intact.

If there was even so small a chance as that, he must take it. Standing, he strode briskly to the longhouse door and opened it.

* * *

Gwen drifted to consciousness cradled in Thakûf's arms. He noticed right away, and urgently asked, "Are you all right?"

Slightly disoriented, she frowned up at him. Then memory flooded back. Her face crumpled and her eyes squeezed shut as sobs tore from her throat.

"I'm so sorry, Gwen," Thakûf whimpered, rocking her gently as he'd seen the adults do when the little ones hurt themselves or were sad. "Shoulda done somethin'... I'm sorry."

There was a tang of blood in her mouth, and her probing tongue found a loosened tooth. Gingerly touching her sore cheek, Gwen winced and cried harder. She slipped an arm about Thakûf's waist and gripped his shirtfront.

Her father... she could barely grasp what had happened. _No child of mine_. She felt as though she'd been abandoned in a dark and lonely place.

But not alone. Thakûf was here. Thakûf whom she had rejected from the first moment she saw him, who had striven always to be respectful of her regardless of her sharp tongue. Perhaps he was an Orc, but he was an Orc who wished to be a Man. At the moment, he seemed more Man to her than her own father. She clung to him and let herself be comforted.

Thakûf's experiences were limited, but one thing he knew about was alleviating distress. He'd seen how Sandy treated the many bloody noses and skinned knees of Ashmau as he learned to walk. One application was all the boy needed to dry his tears and urge him to try again.

So he kissed Gwen's cheek.

Once didn't appear to be enough, for the tears were still coming. This had happened with Ashmau as well; the hurt too great for one kiss to do it. Furrowing his brow with determination, Thakûf set about planting kisses all over her face.

The strangeness of it more than anything else was what slowed Gwen's hysterical sobbing, letting her breathe and focus on what he was doing. Something she did not wish to question or retreat from stirred in her, and she found herself tilting her head back, hopeful that his seemingly random kisses would somehow accidently land upon her mouth. She realized she _needed_ this. She'd been rejected utterly by one male she cared for; to be accepted by Thakûf now, and she so undeserving...

_Kiss me, Thakûf,_ her thoughts begged. _Forget everything I've said to you and kiss me._

Mere moments taught Thakûf that kissing a baby's 'boo-boo,' as Sandy called them, and kissing a girl he found attractive were not remotely the same. He found himself slowing down, lingering a little longer each time. When he was near her mouth, she seemed to be seeking _him_ out, moving closer, urging contact.

He'd seen the mated pairs in the clan share many intimacies before. Kissing between them was as routine as breathing, it seemed. Often a kiss would become a shared look he'd grown to know well, then the pair would be off to a cabin or deeper in the woods far from the settlement, and he _knew_ what they got up to _then_.

Yet he'd never kissed a female himself, and wasn't sure if it was right for him to try now. The cheek was one thing; the mouth, entirely different. Even if she seemed to be imploring him to do it.

No, he wasn't mistaken. Her lips touched the corner of his mouth, and he shivered. Without letting himself debate any longer, Thakûf turned his head ever so slightly, and his lips found hers.

Gwen melted in his arms, her grip on his shirt tightening. She felt as though she were drowning, and held onto him for dear life. Thakûf's arms enclosed her even more, pulling her close.

Was it scent that urged his tongue into her mouth? He wasn't sure, and didn't even know if it was right to do this to her, either. There was the taste of blood there; that was all he grasped. Her own tongue hesitated, recoiled, then joined his in a dance that made him forget what he'd gone in there for.

It was different, the taste of her blood. It wasn't the blood of a kill, but _her_ blood. As if that made a world of difference. The badger's blood had excited him as a predatory hunter; Gwen's assaulted his senses in a wholly unfamiliar manner. It was intoxicating to his mind and arresting to his heart.

He knew he would never stand by and let harm come to her again.

After an eternity or a few moments, Gwen retreated, and he reluctantly followed suit. They stared at one another, gasping for air.

"Sandy says... kisses make it better. I... just wanted to... make it better," Thakûf murmured awkwardly.

"It works," Gwen said with an uncertain laugh. "I do feel better." Releasing her grip on his shirt, she lightly touched his cheek. A slight smile curved her mouth, and she gently drew him down for another kiss.

Too soon, though, how she came to be lying on the ground in the first place returned to her, and Gwen faltered. Thakûf reluctantly pulled away, sensing a change in her manner. Another change, anyway.

"I am sorry, Thakûf," she said quietly, and shifted out of his arms. He bowed his head, unable to meet her eyes. Sighing, she reached up and touched his cheek again. "Thank you."

Looking up in confusion, he shook his head. "I didn't do nothin'. You needed help, and I just... just stood there." His brow creased with guilt.

"I'm thanking you because... you don't hate me," she said timidly. "I've said... mean things to you. I am sorry, truly I am."

"Course I don't hate you," he shrugged sheepishly. "Guess it's obvious now, huh?"

"Yes," she said, smiling. "Quite obvious." Sighing, she looked away. "What am I to do, Thakûf? I am afraid of him."

"You can stay with me and Raz and Ilsa," he offered. "You can have my bed. I'll put clean linens on."

Meeting his eyes, she felt... stronger. Like she'd lost one protector only to gain another, and this one more fiercely invested in her safety. It was an odd thing to imagine, that her own father was not as worried for her as this Orc she barely knew.

But her father had left her alone in the woods with someone he clearly assumed would do her harm, hadn't he? Worse, someone he assumed she'd already done inappropriate things with.

Well, she decided, if he thinks she already had, then what further harm would spending the night in Thakûf's hut do? What reputation did she think she was protecting now? To whom would it even matter?

Perhaps her mother. Gwen bit her lip uncertainly. "What about my mother?" she asked. "What if... what will he do to her?"

"I don't know," Thakûf said helplessly. "He ever... hit you before?" She shook her head. "Your mum?" Again, Gwen shook her head.

"He's never done _anything_ like it," she said. "But then, I suppose I thought he... I thought he had... different opinions than he does. I do not trust _anything_ about him anymore."

"Come stay with us, then," Thakûf said firmly, and rose to his feet. Offering his hand, he helped her stand. "Worst thing happens in our hut is Razkaar talkin' in his sleep."

Smiling a little uncertainly, she asked, "What does he say?"

Thakûf shrugged as he led the way back to the settlement. "Stuff he's heard Sandy say, sounds like. Last night he said, 'That rabbit's _dynamite_!'" Shaking his head, he laughed. "Don't know what the fuck _that_'s supposed to mean."

* * *

When Faelur opened the door to the longhouse, he immediately ducked back inside and peered out cautiously. What he saw made his blood boil, and justified all of his fears.

Gwen was following that Orc boy into his shelter. _Holding his hand_. They shared smiles and laughter, as though something had happened between them.

Faelur knew what it was. He'd practically given his blessing for the beast to mount her. And because Sandy was doing it, Gwen would likely do it too. Apparently already _had_, or she wouldn't be quite so brazen about it.

In the middle of the day, no less, when only libertines and whores got up to such mischief!

He was still grousing to himself over the whole affair when Mae came in to inform him of dinner being prepared. Curling his lip, he briefly noted that this was yet _another_ thing wrong about the settlement. Maybe they were Orcs and not exactly up to the general standards, but they helped with the cooking. Bad enough assuming the role of a woman and fiddling about with the babies, the stupid curs shared other womanly duties as well. It was sickening. They should stick to hunting and leave these tedious chores to their women.

Shaking himself, he refocused on his wife, for she was calling his name.

"Faelur, where is Gwen?"

"She is... with that Orc," he snorted. "Do not remind me of it. I am furious enough as it is."

"What do you mean, she's 'with' him? Where are they?"

"In his shelter, likely ruining herself as we speak," he snapped. "I'll hear no more of it. If she shows her face at the fire, I shall be very surprised."

Before now, Mae might have pressed the issue. She hadn't seen Gwen all day. While she was fully confident in the girl's chastity, and... _reasonably_ sure that Thakûf was not the sort to press an advantage, Faelur's dismissal was disconcerting. But she was not the sort to poke a wild animal in the eye. _This_ wild animal had proven unpredictable in his opinions. Mae did not wish to test where else he might show capriciousness.

"I am sure if she hungers, she will..."

"Oh, I've no doubt," Faelur snapped, then strode out of the longhouse.

* * *

In Thakûf's hut, Gwen watched impassively as he clumsily removed the linens and put on fresh ones. Once he'd fetched a clean blanket, he gestured for her to sit, and she complied. The kiss they shared was fresh in her mind, and while she found herself anxious for another, she was nervous as well. They were alone, and they were sitting on his bed. Would he try for something more...?

At the moment, he could barely look at her, his face still showing guilt at letting Faelur abuse her in the first place. Gwen didn't blame him at all; would she have been any quicker to respond to such unexpected behavior?

It was almost a relief when Razkaar and Ilsa came in with their rabbits, confused expressions on their faces.

"What's Gwen doin' here?" Raz asked. His tone was not challenging; he was simply curious.

Thakûf tried to pass it off. "She had a fight with her da. Doesn't wanna be near him right now, so..." He shrugged.

Razkaar frowned. Eying Gwen, he couldn't help noticing the purple bloom on her left cheek. "Looks like her da punched her." He looked questioningly at Thakûf. "Did he _hit_ her?"

"Yeah," Thakûf nodded. "Yeah, he did. She's stayin' here tonight. That okay?"

"Sure," Raz nodded.

"Don't say nothin' to nobody," Thakûf pressed, and Raz nodded absently, still staring incredulously at Gwen.

"He... he _hit_ her?"

Ilsa came over and looked up at Gwen with her big hazel eyes. Reaching up, she touched her fingertips to the bruise, then touched her own cheek. "Hit," she whispered, and backed away to crouch in her 'safe' corner.

"It's okay, Ilsa," Raz said soothingly. He went to squat next to her and pat her head. "Wasn't one of _us_ what did it."

Several silent minutes passed before Ilsa accepted what Raz said as truth. Her own memories of the Dunlending village in which she was raised were nearly lost now, but some concepts stayed with her. One was this; when hitting was being done, Ilsa must hide. Perhaps she couldn't escape the first few blows, but scampering for cover spared her any further abuse. It had taken many months with this clan to realize that Nûrzgrat's temper never extended that far. He might thump the adult males who angered him or tested his patience, but she had never seen him raise a hand against the females, and certainly none of the young children.

Nobody gave her such warm hugs as Nûrzgrat did.

To give her some sense of control, Brianna helped her establish the corner of her shelter as a 'safe' place. When she felt stressed or frightened, Ilsa could go there until she calmed. Brianna even put a thick, soft pillow there for her comfort, in case she needed it for a _long_ time. The only one in the clan she let come near her in her corner was Raz.

Slowly, Ilsa rose from her pillow and approached Gwen. Tears were still rolling down the girl's cheeks, though the hitching sobs had gone away. Ilsa climbed up on the bed next to her and looked up at her with large eyes. She reached up and patted Gwen's unharmed cheek.

"Nobody hit Gwen. Not _here_," she said firmly, then frowned. "_Uruk_ don't hit," she clarified. "Safe place."

The little girl's reassurance urged Gwen to embrace her. She felt Thakûf rubbing her back, likely another comforting thing he'd learned by observation.

"You can stay here with us," Razkaar said. "It's okay." Gwen looked up at him, her eyes streaming. How on earth had it come to be, that these _Orcs_ were no different from her friends back home in their unselfish offers to console her when she needed it? Was it their nature, or had Sandy and Brianna taught it to them? She decided it didn't matter in the least where it came from. It was here, they were giving it freely, and questioning their motives was shameful. She only hoped she would be as able to reciprocate when _they_ needed_ her_.

"You want one of our rabbits?" Razkaar offered, and Ilsa broke from Gwen's embrace. The girl ran to the little open-topped enclosure Morkoth helped them build for the rabbit kits, and scooped up a sleepy grey bundle. Razkaar grinned as Ilsa held it up for Gwen to see. "Thakûf don't want one. Says they're for babies."

Thakûf rolled his eyes with embarrassment. "That ain't what I said, Raz," he grumped.

Ilsa came closer to Gwen, who looked at the fussy rabbit with wonder. She had never in her life been so close to one, for they tended to dart away so quickly. She tentively stroked the soft, warm fur. Grinning, Ilsa lifted the kit to Gwen's face and gently stroked her bruised cheek. "All better," Ilsa said happily.

* * *

Gwen didn't leave the young Orcs' shelter. Razkaar fetched their dinners, casually informing the grown-ups that they were having a picnic in the hut, Gwen was with them so don't worry, she was perfectly fine. Thakûf gathered blankets and made a pallet for himself on the floor, insisting Gwen take his bed.

She lay staring at the timbered ceiling for some time, unable to follow the rest of them into sleep. Quite apart from the strangeness of being in a place that wasn't shared with her parents, she was plagued with worries for her mother. What was happening in the longhouse now? Would her mother question Faelur? Would he turn on her as well?

Lurking at the back of her mind was the memory of Thakûf's kiss, which had been pushed into hiding when they returned to the settlement. He hadn't made a single attempt to revisit that moment, and she felt somewhat disappointed that he hadn't, regardless that she would be thoroughly embarrassed if he tried it in front of the others.

Now that she had brushed past the thought, her mind flooded with the feel of him, and she longed for his touch in a way she never had for Serondaen. Just to be near him would assuage that need, she was certain. Or perhaps in his arms...

It was scandalous, to want such intimacies. And from an _Orc_! But her automatic reaction was losing its strength; this day had shown her a side of these Orcs she never imagined, even as it revealed a darkness in her own father that had gone undiscovered. Her father would undoubtedly tell her a boy like Thakûf – be he an Orc or a Man – would take advantage of her. Because she had let him kiss her... worse, _she_ had kissed _him_... he would consider her a wanton and a whore, and use her accordingly.

Yet Thakûf lay on a pallet of blankets on the floor of the shelter, snoring softly. He made no attempt to climb into his own bed beside her. He didn't even suggest it. Maybe they were not alone and even an Orc had some sense of privacy in these matters, but when they _were_ alone, he did no more than share a kiss. Perhaps in this as well, her father was wrong.

Turning her head, she peered through the darkness at his sleeping form. He wasn't so much _snoring_ as... _purring_. It was a strange sound, and somehow gently comforting. She felt her eyelids drooping. A smile curved her lips. The rumbling sound was certainly... alluring...

She closed her eyes and listened, not only to Thakûf's purr, but her own change of heart.


	20. Have Mercy on Me

A/N: Tissue alert. You have been warned.

* * *

**Have Mercy on Me**

Frûmâdûrz looked down on the little farmyard from his perch in a tree along the hedgerow. He'd been there since dawn; though his backside ached and his legs were cramped, he stayed where he was. From here, he could see _her_.

He'd traveled so far... he had no idea how many miles. Where only yesterday he was nearly frantic, picking up traces of her scent on the wind – fleeting glimpses that only told him general direction – now he was relaxed, very nearly content. There she was, beautiful to his eyes; heart-achingly beautiful. Every movement graceful, every smile warm and inviting. Even now, as she hung the washing on ropes strung between two trees not far from where he hid, she was a vision to behold.

The one thing he looked for, he did not see. There was no evidence that she had been claimed by another. Perhaps she waited for _him_? If that was so, she was holding her own remarkably well. He grinned, imagining her pining in the night as he had done all this time, waking with a longing so great he wept in despair.

Friends she had, and many of them. He watched them come and go, and always his woman smiled so brightly. He never saw her smile back at the village, likely because of the Dunlendings. Seeing it now, he knew he had chosen wisely. Her smile could light up any dark place.

As he watched her take one bed linen after another and hang it from the rope, he didn't know how much longer he could wait. He'd kept his distance for fear of someone from this village seeing him and raising an alarm. But the need for her that had driven him across such a distance, that urged him to wake each morning and run another few leagues, that told him _he would find her_, was becoming overwhelmingly strong.

Just a touch. That was all he would ask for to begin with. Surely she could spare so little after he had come so far. The rest of it could come later. There was all the time in the world to make her his.

Taking a shuddering breath, he swung down from the tree and slowly approached.

She didn't see him at first. The wind whipped the linens about in front of her, obscuring her vision. He could hear her humming to herself as he neared. Such a lovely sound... Tears stung his eyes, for she was here at long last.

He halted, and waited for the wind to reveal him to her.

Her reaction was not quite what he expected. She drew in a sharp breath and her eyes widened with fear. She clutched her throat and her body trembled. Alone now, without even the rest of Frû's clan present to keep him from her, she seemed rooted to the spot, frozen in terror. He frowned; he didn't like that scent coming from _her_.

"Don't be afraid of me," he told her. "Please?"

"I thought you would stay away," she said shakily, barely able to breathe.

"I couldn't," he replied, his own voice quaking as the last two years of pain washed over him. "I thought of nothing but you... for two years. Such a long time." He forced a laugh. "I finally got free... and I had to come. I couldn't help it."

She shook her head. "What do you _want_ from me? I told you I do not... _want_ you."

"You... could... you could _learn_ to...," he began desperately.

"No, I cannot," she interrupted. Tears began to fall as she looked at him. "Do you not understand? Do you not _care_ what seeing you does to me?" When he didn't answer, she told him, her voice trembling, "I see my sister. I see my mother and my father."

"You... don't see me?" he asked.

"I see what you did to them," she replied. "It is _all_ I see." She turned her face away from him, and squeezed her eyes shut. She hugged herself protectively.

Protecting herself... from him. Frûmâdûrz's determination and resolve of two years shattered in that moment, and he wept.

"All I see... is _you_," he said brokenly. "I close my eyes, and I see _you_. I open them, and I don't want to see anything else. I wake in the night... and I... _ache_... for _you_." Sobbing, he rubbed his leaking eyes. "I have bled so much, and I do not die. Can you not... see me... differently? Can you not forget?"

"No," she breathed. "I cannot. And I never will. Please... let me go, Frû."

"I can't," he whispered, shaking his head. "It's... all I've... ever had... from the moment I first saw you. The only thing... that's kept me going... is coming here... and seeing you again."

"You should not have come," she said, wiping her own tears away.

"I could not do anything else," he whimpered, reaching toward her helplessly.

He was so consumed by despair, Frûmâdûrz didn't hear the running footsteps or see the body hurtling at him. Nûrzgrat appeared seemingly out of nowhere and knocked Frû over sideways. It took a moment for him to register what his leader was saying once the shock of his unexpected appearance wore off.

"You better not have _fucking_ touched her!" Nûrzgrat roared, leaping to his feet and dragging Frû up by the shirt front. In a daze, Frûmâdûrz stared dumbfounded at Nûrzgrat, then looked over at his woman. He was startled to see _another_ woman next to her, holding her close, and giving _him_ a strangely sympathetic look.

Looking at Nûrzgrat incredulously, he said, "You came after me."

"Course I did," Nûrzgrat snorted. "I gave my word, and you tried to fuck it up. I gave my _word._"

Frû realized he was glad Nûrzgrat was here. It didn't matter why. Turning to his leader, he struggled through the tears that still fell. "She... don't want me."

He would have expected Nûrzgrat to cuff him and say, 'Of course she don't want you, you stupid _pushdug_!' But instead, he simply nodded and put his hand on Frû's shoulder. He spoke... _gently_...

"No, she doesn't," he said simply. "She never did."

"I'm glad you came," Frû said. Glancing at the dark-haired woman, he asked, "Who's she?"

Nûrzgrat followed his gaze, looking at the woman for a long moment before meeting Frû's eyes. "That's... Brytta. Long story."

Frû sagged. Perhaps because he had suffered so much over the last two years, he knew the same pain when he saw it in another.

"I'm sorry, Nûrzgrat," Frûmâdûrz said softly.

Nûrzgrat looked away and swallowed hard. "So am I."

"You... you understand."

"Yeah," Nûrzgrat nodded. "Yeah, I do. I wish I didn't."

"I'm afraid," Frû whimpered. "I have always been afraid."

Nûrzgrat struggled hard to keep his voice steady. "You were brave when it mattered."

Turning pleading eyes to his leader, Frûmâdûrz said, "I... I can't walk away. Nûrzgrat, please. I beg of you. Follow your orders."

Startled, Nûrzgrat stared at Frû, hoping he hadn't just said... "Don't make me do that."

"She... she stopped smilin', Nûrzgrat," Frû said pleadingly. "Maybe... maybe she'll... smile again."

"Maybe," Nûrzgrat allowed grudgingly. "Brie and Sandy want you home. So... you come home."

Frûmâdûrz shook his head. "I can't. You _know_ I can't. I don't _wanna_ go home. It ain't home anymore. There's nothing there for me."

Bowing his head, Nûrzgrat said, "I know."

"I... I wanna see her face... when you do it," Frû said shakily. "I want her face... to be the last thing I see."

"All right," Nûrzgrat said gruffly.

Something suddenly occurred to Frûmâdûrz, and he grasped Nûrzgrat's arm desperately. "Nûrzgrat... please... what's her name? Nobody ever told me what her name was."

"Hengolwen," Nûrzgrat said shakily. "Her name is Hengolwen."

"Thank you," Frûmâdûrz sobbed gratefully. He held tightly to Nûrzgrat's arm. "I am... so afraid." He began to shake, and squeezed his eyes shut, sending more tears down his face.

"I know," Nûrzgrat nodded. He couldn't look at Frû's face. He hadn't expected it to be so hard...

"Nûrzgrat," Frûmâdûrz whispered desperately. "Where do we go... when we die?"

Taken aback, Nûrzgrat fumbled for an answer. "I... I don't know. Never gave it any thought. Likely don't go where Men go." He chuckled bitterly. "They don't like us here; probably don't want us there, either."

"Tha- that's good, then," Frûmâdûrz nodded. "This'll end it. I won't chase her no more."

"No," Nûrzgrat said. "I expect you won't."

"You'll... you'll come after me, though, right? You'll... follow?"

Nûrzgrat flinched, then nodded. "Yeah. You won't be waitin' long."

"I'll look for you," Frû said.

"I'll be there soon, Frûmâdûrz," Nûrzgrat promised.

"Quick... make it quick," Frû begged. "Finish it. _Please_. So she'll smile again."

"Yeah." Nûrzgrat's hands were trembling, and he clenched his fists to steady them. Slowly, he unsheathed his knife. Frûmâdûrz quickly looked away; he didn't want to see it coming. Turning toward Hengolwen, he awkwardly dropped to his knees.

The one called Brytta seemed to have figured out what was happening, and frowned. "Nûrzgrat, what are you doing?"

"Stay the fuck back," Nûrzgrat barked, his voice ragged and angry. "This ain't got _nothin'_ to do with you."

"What are you doing?" Brytta cried again, panic settling on her face.

"You don't have to do that," Hengolwen said unsteadily. "Nûrzgrat, you don't have to _do_ that!" She tried to take a step toward them, but Brytta held her back.

"It's done," Frûmâdûrz said brokenly. "I can't forget you. I can't let you go. I can't walk away." Swallowing hard, he looked at her one last time. "Hengolwen... you're... beautiful."

Grimacing and clenching his jaw, Nûrzgrat sucked in his breath, and swiftly cut Frûmâdûrz's throat.

Time seemed to stop, and Nûrzgrat dropped to his knees behind Frû, grabbing the boy about the shoulders and holding him tightly as he convulsed. Squeezing his eyes shut, he tried not to hear the women's screams.

He'd slain his own kind before. Killed them for far less reason than this. Yet _this_ one... this killing... was a world apart.

As Frû's life ebbed, warm blood pouring from the gaping wound, Nûrzgrat felt as if it were _his_ blood being drained. His face contorted with the effort to hold back the unexpectedly strong torrent of grief hammering at him. Frû slumped in his arms, and Nûrzgrat's hold loosened, allowing the dead Uruk to slide to the ground.

Slowly, he looked up. Brytta was trying to revive Hengolwen, who had evidently fainted. She met his gaze; he expected disgust and anger. Brytta likely thought they came all this way to bring him home. Maybe Nûrzgrat held that hope at first, but once he saw the nest... he knew it would end this way. For Frû, and eventually for him as well.

He just never thought Frû... cowardly, misbegotten, bastard Frû... would ask him to do it. Worse, that he'd remind Nûrzgrat of those orders... the last ones given by _Sharkû_ before Isengard was destroyed.

To his surprise, Brytta had tears in her eyes. He couldn't look at her for more than a moment, seeing such pity for him. His face itched, and he roughly rubbed his cheek; his hand came away wet.

It was coming, he could feel it... and he had to get away. If she was giving him _that look_ now, how much worse would it be if he was leaking out his eyes like a weak piece of shit? Lurching to his feet, he whirled around and stomped away, back in the direction they'd come.

Brytta watched him go, barely able to breathe. Turning her attention back to Hengolwen, she saw that the woman was reviving from her swoon.

"There, now," she said awkwardly, patting Hengolwen's hand. "It's over."

Struggling to sit up, Hengolwen's eyes fell upon Frû, thankfully face down in the grass, and she covered her mouth with a shaking hand.

"I am... so sorry," Brytta said, squeezing her shoulder. "We came as quickly as we could. We were... trying to stop him from making it this far, but... things... happened."

Hengolwen didn't seem to hear. Tears streamed from her eyes; she could not stop looking at Frû's lifeless body. "I thought I wanted him dead," she whispered. "That it would make everything... better. I did not realize... it would hurt... _me_... to see him die."

Brytta wiped her own tears away. Now she wished she had known Frû as something other than a being they chased, a faceless threat to an unknown woman far away. She felt sorry for him. She wished things could have ended another way.

And to see Nûrzgrat's stricken face, the overwhelming grief lurking just beneath the surface... Likely something he would fight with all his strength to keep hidden... Just as Sandy said he would. Just as he kept his own bond to her a secret... a bond he likely felt just as strongly for her as Frû felt for Hengolwen.

_Sweet Valar_, she thought with alarm, _will he do the same? Will he take his own life to spare himself this torment?_

"I must... go to him," she said half to herself. "He needs me. I do not think he realizes how much."

Hengolwen tore her gaze from Frû, and looked searchingly at Brytta. "Go. I will... take care of him." As if seeing something in Brytta's eyes, Hengolwen suddenly grasped the woman's wrist and implored her, "If you have feelings for him... _embrace them_. He is too good a man for this ending. I knew it two years ago." She looked beyond Frû's body to Nûrzgrat's form dwindling in the distance. "I've no doubt he cares for you. He looked at you the way Frû looked at me. I've no doubt in his way, Frû cared for me. Why, I have no idea. But I saw the same look in Nûrzgrat's eyes for you. And he suffers as Frû suffered." She turned her head to look at Brytta. "Do not make him suffer."

Startled by such unexpected words, Brytta was struck speechless for a moment and could only stare. After a few moments, she shook herself and said, "I... do... feel... But... I have _hunted_ his kind."

It came in a rush. Brytta had focused all her thoughts toward condemning Nûrzgrat for wrongs he had committed while under the sway of a heartless master, yet what had _she_ done? No hand of a king guided her into squalid encampments, no liege lord commanded her to slay the Orcs whose blood was on her hands. It was easy to kill them, for they were beasts and monsters. She did not hear their cries for mercy, though now such pleas were remembered. She cared not for the mothers clutching babes to their breasts and running from her sword into a gauntlet they could not escape... or the young she hacked to death lest their... filth... grow to adulthood...

She had found it in her heart to forgive Nûrzgrat _his_ past; could he forgive _hers_?

"Let it go," Hengolwen said quietly. "Whatever stands between you, let it go, if you are able." A slight, humorless smile crossed her face. "What was between Frû and I... could not be mended. I must... endure the truth of this. That he did try... in the end... to spare me further pain." Bowing her head, Hengolwen dissolved into tears.

Torn between staying with Hengolwen and following Nûrzgrat, Brytta rose awkwardly. There was really nothing more she knew to say, and chose to follow the Orc. He had nearly disappeared beyond a rise, not even attempting to hide from patrols. Worried by his distraction – or perhaps intentional recklessness – Brytta hurried her pace, then broke into a run.

Nûrzgrat could hear her coming, but made no effort to acknowledge her presence when she slowed and fell into step with him. He couldn't get the feel of Frû dying in his arms out of his mind. Worse, he could not forget Frû's sorrow. He'd never known an Uruk to collapse so completely. Perhaps he feared such a loss of self-control more than the inevitable rejection from Brytta that would herald its arrival.

A fresh wave of despair hit him unawares as he thought of Brianna and Sandy. They made him promise to bring him home. What the fuck was he going to say to them?

Another promise, broken. How many more of his sworn pledges would be shattered before the end? It was no comfort that, ultimately, he followed orders. He finally did what he was ordered to do so long ago. Would that fucking bastard _Sharkû_ ever set him free? Would he be forever under the yoke? Always obeying his _Master_?

"Nûrzgrat," Brytta said cautiously beside him.

"Shut the fuck up!" he roared, shooting a hostile glare at her. "Don't _fucking_ talk to me!" Speeding his footsteps, he surged ahead.

"I... am sorry," she whispered, and he flinched at her hurt tone.

_It's better this way_, he told himself, though the pain in his heart told him he was lying.


	21. Hit By the Shrapnel

**Hit By the Shrapnel**

Mae fretted and worried all night, for Gwen did not return to the longhouse. Had Faelur not insisted she fulfill her duty, she might have gone looking for her daughter, but once sated, he possessively draped his limbs over her. She could not slip out of bed without waking him.

She did not want him wakeful, not after... For the first time in their lengthy marriage, he took her roughly. He muttered to himself all the while, words she did not want to recall. He frequently made mention of 'him,' but never spoke a name. If he thought her unfaithful, who could he possibly accuse in this place? Though she had grown to respect Sandy and Brianna's choice of mates, the very idea that _she_ would lie with one of their mates' kind...

So it was not until the barest lightening of the room as dawn approached that she was able to escape the longhouse, for Faelur finally rolled off her. Dressing with fumbling fingers, she kept looking at the sleeping monster in her bed and cringing. Her body still ached. She feared the inevitable sting between her legs when she relieved herself. He had not even attempted to prepare her for his entry.

Quietly closing the door behind her, she leaned against it and drew deep breaths. Though the sun was at least an hour from rising, Razkaar and Ilsa were already preparing for one of their adventures. He was examining sticks left unused from the dinner fire, looking for the perfect thickness and length for clearing undergrowth. Ilsa watched him with the admiration of a younger sibling; her eyes could see no wrong in him.

Biting her lip, Mae approached them. Raz looked up, then darted his eyes away. Mae's worry increased.

"Razkaar," she said stiffly, "tell me. Is... is Gwen in your shelter?"

"Yeah," he said quickly, nodding. "She's in there."

"Is she all right?"

"Yeah, she's all right," Razkaar replied nervously. His eyes shifted about even more quickly, trying to find something else besides her to look at and still seem politely engaged in the conversation. His hands were ever active, twisting and turning the stick he held. Flakes of bark shaved off in his agitated grip.

Mae had observed among the Uruk-hai that their faces were quite expressive. Very little of what they were feeling was hidden. She'd fancied that would make them terrible liars. Seeing Razkaar now, she realized just how true that was. Youngest of the males excepting Ashmau, he was likely the most spectacularly awful liar in the entire settlement.

"I must see her," Mae ventured, gauging his reaction. Now he seemed even _more_ panicked. His face went slack and his eyes widened. He began to tremble.

Fear clutched her throat so tightly she could scarcely breathe. Abandoning the interview, Mae ran to the younger Uruks' shelter and reached for the door. To her surprise, it opened easily. She rushed inside, expecting... not knowing _what_ to expect, other than something terrible.

To her shock, Gwen and Thakûf were sitting cross-legged on the bed a few feet apart, facing one another. They were _talking_. Mae's abrupt entry halted their conversation, and both looked up at her with surprise.

If the absence of blood and corpses was not enough to surprise her, the dark purple bruise on her daughter's cheek nearly made her swoon. Her first irrational thought was that Thakûf applied it.

"Gwen!" Mae breathed, pressing a hand to her heart to still its rapid flutter. It was all she could manage.

Without hesitation, Gwen rose from the bed and rushed into her mother's arms, sobbing and gripping Mae desperately. Confused but so happy to see her daughter whole, Mae held her close. She looked questioningly at Thakûf over Gwen's shoulder.

His head hung as though he were ashamed, and she wondered if her terrible thought was true. _Had_ he done this to Gwen in a fit of rage? The fact that she had _never_ seen Thakûf's temper flare was nearly immaterial; she had known Faelur for nearly thirty years without an awareness of _his_ true nature.

"She... wanted a... safe place," Thakûf stammered.

"Safe place," Mae repeated, bewildered. "Safe from whom?"

Swallowing hard, he glanced up at Mae briefly. "Her da. He hit her."

Mae was not sure she would be able to continue standing for much longer, so shocking was this news. "Oh... _Gwen_," she whispered, and drew back to look at her daughter's tear-streaked face.

Lifting Gwen's chin gently, Mae examined the bruise. It stretched from her jawline up to the cheekbone. Anger and fear warred inside her; what were they to do _now_?

Tearing her eyes from Gwen's face, Mae pulled her close again and stroked her hair. Again, she looked at Thakûf. He couldn't meet her eyes, hanging his head as though _he_ were the assailant.

"Did you see this happen?" Mae asked, and Thakûf silently nodded. "Then you helped her?"

"I didn't do enough," he muttered, his face crumpling. "I just... I... I didn't know what to do."

Sighing with relief, Mae shook her head. "How could you possibly have known he would do such a thing? I have known him for many, many years, and even _I_ am shocked." Steering her unresisting daughter around, she guided her to sit on the bed. "Here. Sit down."

Mae sat beside Gwen. Thakûf perched on the end of the bed uncertainly, as though he wasn't sure he was allowed. Mae once again tilted Gwen's chin to look at the damage. "Oh Gwen, I am _so_ sorry. What shall we do?"

"I am... afraid of him," Gwen said, her voice trembling. "I am afraid of my own father."

Nodding, Mae gently caressed Gwen's injured face. "So am I. And moreso now." Smoothing Gwen's mussed hair, she said, "I was so worried for you last night, yet he dismissed your absence as if... He said you were likely in here. With Thakûf."

Gwen detached herself from her mother's embrace and straightened. Her face hardened. "I am sure he told you what he suspected we were doing."

Mae winced and nodded. "Yes, he did. He accused you of... ruining yourself."

Flinching as though receiving another blow, Gwen's tears returned. "We did nothing. We were _talking_. He came... He assumed that..." She covered her mouth with a shaking hand, her eyes pleading with her mother to believe her.

"Shush now," Mae said softly, pulling her daughter into her embrace once more. "It is all right. I know you did nothing."

"But... but I _did_," Thakûf whimpered guiltily, and Mae's eyes pinned him to the wall.

"What did you do?" she asked tightly. Gwen retreated from her mother to fix her with an expectant look.

"I kissed her," Thakûf mumbled, hanging his head. "I couldn't help it."

"Is that _all_?" Mae asked incredulously. Thakûf nodded. The guilt and embarrassment painted upon the young Uruk's face over such a small thing were almost comical, in light of what Mae had expected to see upon entering the shelter. She sagged with relief.

Gwen, quite by contrast, did not look outwardly ashamed of the liberties taken. She held her head up defiantly, and Mae suspected the girl had overheard more than she should have. Her words fairly confirmed that.

"You needn't fear, mother," Gwen said stiffly. "My 'innocence' is still intact. My... value to the family has not been lessened."

Wincing with guilt for the part _she_ played in the arrangement, Mae shook her head. "I will tell you something of great importance, Gwen. Something that I should have said long ago." Glancing at Thakûf, she took a deep breath and nodded. "Perhaps it is good for you to hear this as well, Thakûf. Considering... what was shared, I suspect..." Shaking her head, she continued, "Gwen, your innocence... is not precisely what must be guarded, and certainly not for the reasons... Innocence implies youth and inexperience. You are a woman now. You have seen enough in even the past week that would call your status of 'innocent' into question. No, what is guarded is your _virginity_. It is simply a... well, you may think of it as a treasure that is yours alone. None may claim it without your consent. As a woman, you may wish to keep it as a gift to bestow upon a man of your choosing. Only know this: once given, it cannot be retrieved. You cannot give it to another. And so most women prefer to pass this gift to one they love."

Looking from her daughter's enthralled eyes to Thakûf's curious ones, she smiled. "I would only advise you thus: keep your treasure until you are quite certain that _you_ are ready to give it away."

"You have never said such things to me before," Gwen said in an awed whisper. "I did not think..."

"Dearest, I bring babes into the world all the time," Mae said with a twinkle in her eye. "Did you imagine I was unaware of how they are made?"

"Goodness!" Gwen cried, covering her mouth in shock. "Mother!" She glanced at Thakûf, his eyes wide. He looked so _guilty_! Even his dark cheeks seemed darker.

"The feelings in your heart," Mae said gently, "are nothing to be ashamed of." Glancing at Thakûf's uncertain face, she smiled. "No matter for whom you feel them."

Swallowing hard, he said, "Really?"

"You gave my daughter comfort in her sorrow," Mae replied. "And you did not press your suit. I thank you for that." Turning back to her daughter, she was once more arrested by the bruise. "Oh Gwen. I do not trust him. I find that my affection for him these many years is... it is not strong enough to weather this storm. I do not... I do not wish to accompany him to Gondor."

Speaking the words aloud seemed to firm her resolve and strengthen her belief in them. Mae took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I do not think I can endure one more... night with him."

"I feel the same," Gwen breathed.

Bowing her head, Mae said, "I thought long on this last night as I worried for you. I wondered what he would do next. I never imagined that _this_..." She gestured helplessly at Gwen's cheek. "I had no idea that this... _monster_ lurked within him."

Taking up her daughter's hands, Mae said firmly, "I feel I am needed in this place. There is a certain... freedom here that I am certain will be lacking in Gondor. Most assuredly there will be none of it with Faelur. I want to stay, if I am welcome."

"You would be," Thakûf interjected quickly. "Both of you wanna stay, you can stay."

Gwen met Thakûf's gaze and a slight smile curved her lips. Though there were no markets here, no fashions to concern herself with, there was a boy who cared for her. He wasn't interested in her dowry or her family name, the wealth she possessed or how he would look sporting her on his arm. He saw nothing but _her_. And she was beginning to see nothing but _him._ "I want to stay as well," she said firmly.

Thakûf smiled broadly.

Relieved, for she did not want to contemplate her daughter traveling alone with Faelur all the way to Minas Tirith, Mae nodded. "I will speak with Sandy and Brianna. And their mates. And then I suppose I must tell Faelur." A troubled look crossed her face. "I honestly do not know what he will do. I have not known _anyone_ to end a marriage, but that is what I wish." She shrugged helplessly. "I do not know what he will do," she repeated.

* * *

It was a difficult question to ask of them, Mae found. Standing before Sandy and Brianna, Morkoth and Ghru, and asking... _begging_ them to allow her and Gwen to stay on... But after several false starts, which the four of them weathered patiently, she finally gathered enough courage to ask.

"May we – Gwen and I – remain here in your settlement?" she said haltingly.

They frowned and exchanged glances. Brianna, indulging a rare opportunity to cradle her child in the chair usually occupied by Ghru, broke the silence.

"Just the two of you? Not Faelur?" she asked.

"He still intends to continue on to Gondor," Mae said tightly. "I find that I... no longer wish to. Gwen is of the same mind." She could tell them of Faelur's latest act, of the escalation from thought to word to deed, but in truth, it was humiliating. He had hidden such things from her for so long... of all people in this place who knew him well enough to see it coming, it should have been Mae. Her failure to protect Gwen... lying in the longhouse when she should have gone in search of _her own child_ to ensure she was safe... cowering in fear of an unknown, now known, and allowing the beast to paw at her mercilessly lest he do worse... Wincing, she shook her head. "We cannot go with him."

Morkoth met Ghru's eyes and after a long moment of silent regard, they both nodded almost as one. "You and Gwen are welcome to stay," Morkoth finally said. "Faelur is _not_. Will he go without you?"

"He must," Mae replied. "I no longer wish to be his wife. I... do not trust him."

Sandy's eyes narrowed as she hiked Ashmau a little higher on her hip. "This isn't because he and I had a disagreement, is it? Has something _else_ happened?"

As Mae's agitation grew, Brianna awkwardly rose from the chair and handed Hontor off to Ghru. "Mae," she said gently as she approached. The woman's steps were slow and weary, but her face was concerned. "Tell us. What is going on?"

Mae's eyes darted from one face to another. Brie and Sandy appeared deeply worried, while the Orcs looked suspicious and confused. It occurred to her that perhaps begging refuge in almost the same breath as lying to them would not be the best way to begin things. Swallowing the shame, Mae bowed her head and said quietly, "Faelur accused our daughter of... consorting with Thakûf. When she denied any wrongdoing, he... he struck her." Remembering the livid bruise on Gwen's fair cheek, she shuddered. "He struck her hard enough to bruise, and left her where she lay. He... gave her... to Thakûf... to continue what he had begun."

Finally looking up, she saw that the four of them were just as shocked as she had been. Hastily swiping at the tears beginning to fall, she hastened to add, "Thakûf is a good boy. He did nothing to warrant such accusations, and _certainly_ did not... accept what was so thoughtlessly given. Gwen stayed in his shelter last night, _untouched_, and is still there now. He has... comforted her only."

"He is most _definitely_ not welcome now," Morkoth growled heatedly. Ghru seemed speechless; all that came from him was a low rumble as of a predatory animal coiled to spring.

Sandy was not so restrained. "What the _hell_?" she cried when she found her voice. "That son of a _bitch_!" Fuming, she pushed her son into Morkoth's arms and stormed to the door. "Where the hell is he?" she muttered, rolling up her sleeves. Mae swiftly moved to block her exit.

"No, please," she protested. "I will speak with him on this matter. In private. I do not think he would receive it well if... if he knew our personal business was generally known. _Please_."

"At least take one of the boys with you," Brianna urged. "We don't know what he'll do."

"No," Mae replied firmly. "Words may be said that... I would rather no one else heard. I will be fine."

"Let _me_ go, then," Sandy growled. "If he even _points_ at you..."

"No, you least of all," Mae insisted. Flushing with embarrassment at the woman's startled look, she said, "Your... strength of will offends him deeply. I believe your presence might do more harm than good. Please forgive me."

Frowning and putting her hands on her hips defiantly, Sandy said, "I've known men like that. He won't stop at shouting, if he's already had a go at your daughter. Don't talk to him alone, Mae. I mean it."

"I must," Mae said. "Please understand..."

"Let her go, Sandy," Brianna said quietly, searching Mae's face. "She _might_ be right."

"Do you really think so?" Sandy asked skeptically.

Brie met Sandy's eyes for a moment, then shook her head. Sandy sighed.

"We'll keep our ears open," she told Mae. "Yell if you need us."

* * *

Faelur was only just beginning to dress himself when Mae entered the longhouse. She stared at him for several long minutes, fear of him growing with each moment that passed. Facing the bandits had not filled her with so much dread as the thought of looking Faelur in the eye and telling him to leave her behind.

Still, it must be done. The aches in her body, remembered now that their giver was near, convinced her it needed to be done _now_.

"Faelur," she said quietly. He turned in the act of putting on a clean tunic, and pulled it down over his head to look at her. Such a benign face... hiding such wickedness... "Faelur, I have... spoken with Gwen."

"Have you," he said with little interest. He sat on the bed to put on his boots. "I am shocked you were able to find her uncoupled from that filthy Orc long enough to do so."

"She bears your mark," Mae said stiffly. Anger at what he'd done ignited a spark of defiance within her. _Their own child!_ "How could you?" she breathed.

Snorting, Faelur rose to tuck his shirt into his breeches. "The whore defied me," he said simply. "I do not suffer a woman's defiance." He looked up to fix her with a warning glare. "_Any_ woman's."

"She is no _whore_," Mae snarled, her voice trembling. "She has ever been a good, honest young woman. You wrong her to..."

"That is enough!" Faelur barked, startling her into silence. "I have decided that we shall leave this place this very day. You and I. Gwen is... soiled beyond her use. Let the Orcs have her. We will have to manage our own fortunes without her somehow."

Anger overcame her shock at such a statement. "I will not go a step further with you!" she cried. "You have hidden your true nature well these many years, but I _see_ you now! What am I to you but a means of garnering _yourself_ reknown? To make yourself known as the husband of a midwife, a path to the wealthy by way of their children's mothers, a woman held in high regard by all but _you_? Used as you see fit, because you are my lord and master? Am I to be _your_ whore?"

Stunned by her outburst, Faelur was momentarily wrong-footed. "You are nothing of the kind."

"That was not your manner last night!" she retorted. "You mounted me as would a _beast_ with as little regard. I daresay the _Orcs_ in this settlement show more tenderness to their..."

His hand flashed, ending her tirade with a stinging slap.

"You will not speak to me in such a way," Faelur snarled. "You are my _wife_..."

"That is a distinction," Mae whispered shakily, "that I no longer wish to embrace."

Narrowing his eyes, he growled, "What are you saying?"

"Go without me to Gondor, Faelur," she said with quiet dignity, holding her head up. "I will stay here where I am _needed_. Where I am _respected_."

"You... have no right..."

"I am in command of myself," Mae interrupted. "And I choose to stay. Without _you_. You may consider our marriage ended."

He stared at her, jaw grinding, eyes flaring with a building rage. Mae held her ground, preparing herself for... for anything. He'd put a toe over the line and slapped her; would he step completely over and do worse?

"You do not have the right," he repeated, as if the words were true because _he_ said them. "Even more, it is not your _place_ to tell me how things will be. I see what has happened; you have been coerced by that... woman. The sick one. She has..."

"Her name is _Brianna,_" Mae snapped. Fury overwhelmed prudence; some things needed to be said, regardless of the consequences. "And no one has done a thing! No one save _you_. I do not require the opinions of others to shape my own. _You_ destroyed my trust. _You_ imagined indiscretions and wrongly accused our daughter. _You_ drove her weeping into the arms of the very one you claimed she'd dallied with. It is only by her own good sense that no worse happened than a night spent in his shelter. And now you have sealed your fate. You struck her; and now you have struck _me_. We will not endure your monstrous behavior a moment more!"

"You think _me_ a monster?" he snarled, clenching his fist. "How will it be when their leader returns and claims you? Will you come crawling to me, begging a return to my good graces, or will you lie on your back with your legs spread, begging _him_ for..."

The crack of Mae's hand across his face stilled his tongue, but not his anger. "You dare...," he growled dangerously.

"And what of you? Such vile things I have _never_ heard from your mouth!" she cried.

Without thinking of more than how important it was to set things to rights with _her_ at least, and how powerful it made him feel before, Faelur closed his fist tightly and sent it flying into the woman's face. The blow staggered Mae, and she fell across the bed.

"Must I remind you?" Faelur snarled, climbing atop her body and raining blows about her face she struggled to deflect. "You belong to _me_! You spoke your vows to _me_! He will not have you! _None_ of them will have you! You are _mine _to do with as I please!"

Mae fought and squirmed. She tried to protect herself, but he was stronger. She wept, she screamed. Then her voice was cut off. His hands were about her throat, squeezing...

"Mine," Faelur murmured. "_Mine_."


	22. What the HELL Did You Just Say?

**What the _HELL_ Did You Just Say?**

Brytta watched Nûrzgrat carefully the rest of the day, worrying herself into a state. He looked neither right nor left, forging ahead in a straight line that may or may not lead them to the Gap of Rohan and the homeward trail. He said nothing more and seemed utterly beyond her reach.

Yet she longed to reach for him. With every painful step in his wake, for he growled if she walked at his side, the need to relieve his suffering mounted. But he did not allow her to come close, and would not listen to her.

The first night after Frû's death, she insisted on taking first watch, and for once he was indifferent about it. Brytta didn't walk the perimeter, however; she stayed nearby and stood vigil. She didn't trust him for a far different reason than before. The fear that she would wake and find him dead by his own hand kept her restless.

Again, his sleep was disturbed by apparently terrible dreams. Brytta found tears upon her own face matching those on his. She wondered again what he dreamed. Considering what he'd just experienced, an event which undoubtedly caused him distress, she feared what the answer might be.

The longer she looked at him in his torment, the stronger her desire to just _do it_. All she had to do was tell him... _tell_ him... What she felt for him was so different from what she believed she felt for a man long dead. She'd hoped to marry him, perhaps because it was expected. It would not have been the best union, but an acceptable one. She certainly hadn't... loved him. Not like _this._

If she told Nûrzgrat the truth, it would change everything, wouldn't it? He surely believed himself as unwanted as Frû. He'd seen what came of such despair, such unrequited need. If he believed she didn't want him, he would undoubtedly follow in Frû's footsteps. Perhaps he didn't think she'd heard their words, but she had. She knew of his promise to the pitiable Uruk.

Her mind in turmoil and her heart aching, Brytta kept watch throughout the night. She was not surprised when Nûrzgrat woke furious.

"Why didn't you _fucking_ wake me!" he roared, rubbing sleep from his eyes in the dim morning light.

"You needed the rest," she said simply, her voice betraying her own weariness. "It has been... a long journey."

"Won't get far today," he snapped as he rose and stretched. "Have you stumbling around, asleep on your feet."

"I will manage," she replied, getting up and fishing through her pack for something to eat. Taking a deep breath, she looked up at his fierce face as he looked westward. "Nûrzgrat... what is it you dream about?"

He shot a look at her that almost made her cringe. "None of your fucking business," he growled. Then he turned his attention back to the way ahead.

There was no need to hurry now. They would likely walk, drawing out the inevitable. He couldn't just... leave her. Not this far from the settlement where she might have some protection. But then... the folk at that village were hers. Less than a day behind them. They'd likely welcome her.

It hurt so much, the thought of leaving her. But how much worse would it hurt _not_ to? He remembered Frû's pathetic little nest, Frû's hopelessness in the end. Nûrzgrat had only been with Brytta for a week at most, yet he was already in the same state. Was it worse for him because he'd spent this time in her presence, having her dangled in front of him, just beyond his reach? Or because he'd learned of her manner and spirit, thus strengthening an already unbreakable bond?

Whatever the reason, the loss of her was too great to bear. And if he put it off much longer, it would be harder still.

As they continued on, he mulled over how he might manage it. He'd ruled out rope; it wasn't so long ago he'd traveled across this cursed country begging for rope at every turning to keep Ghru from abandoning _his_ mate. By the time he had some, the problem had resolved itself. He'd already decided that turning a blade upon himself was too... difficult. He just couldn't do it.

Glancing at Brytta, he remembered that she was an Orc-hunter, and she despised him.

How bloody convenient.

Still, it wasn't until they'd made camp the second night that his resolve was firm enough to pull the dagger still stained with Frû's blood from its sheath at his hip and ponder it for a moment. He felt her eyes on him, likely wondering if he would turn it on her. The thought made him grunt humorlessly, then he silently handed her the hilt.

"What... what is this for?" she asked even as she accepted it.

"You're gonna want it," he replied.

Brytta stared at him, and her heart stopped. Was he asking of her what Frû asked of him? Horrified, she opened her mouth to protest, but shut it when he began to speak.

"You wanted to know," he said heavily, his voice a quiet rumble, "what I see in my dreams. _Sharkû_ let me breed once. It's what _he_ called it, but that's not what it was. We went down in those pits and we raped those females. It's what _I_ did. It was a _privilege_." He glanced up at her face; while she didn't look as horrified as he thought she would, she at least looked properly disgusted.

"I lost my head," he continued, and his voice shook for a moment. He clenched his jaw and swallowed to steady himself. "I wanted... I... I don't even remember what I was thinking. _Snaga_ Orcs told me later it's... it's what Orcs do. We're driven by... our nature, I suppose. We need to mark when we... when we mate. Can't... really help it." He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, gathering himself. It had been a long time since he told anyone about this. While it might make things easier on Brytta, it was still an agonizing memory, and a painful confession. _"Sharkû_ didn't tell us nothin' about what it means to be an Orc. How to... do things... the right way. When I made to mark her... I tore her throat out."

His eyes darted to her face. She'd covered her mouth, and her eyes were wide. Wincing, he looked at the ground again. "I don't even remember doing it. I just remember... seeing her... after." He drew a shuddering breath. "I see her face every night. I see... what I did to her. I saw her face... on every female I raped, until I couldn't stand it no more. Stopped goin' out on raids... cause I kept seeing her face. She won't give me peace." He had to pause and push down the howl that wanted so desperately to surface. Yet he could not seem to steady his voice, and it shook slightly as he went on.

"Couple of years ago, Morkoth told me what became of our female young. Started seeing that too. That female... bearing my whelp... and _Sharkû_ killing it." His voice choked off and he covered his eyes with his hand. It took longer to suppress it this time. Nûrzgrat _had_ to tell her. If there were any lingering doubts in her mind of what sort of monster he was, he had to make sure she knew. She wouldn't hesitate then. "I didn't tell you all. He gave the female whelps to their sires... fuh... for _eating_. Morkoth didn't, and he was punished." For a moment, a bitter laugh broke through, and he chuckled. "Said he spat on _Sharkû_. Probably made it worse." Clearing his throat, he said, "I dream that I... that _I_ do it." Unexpectedly, his grip slipped, and a sob tore from his throat. "_My own_," he gasped, fighting like mad to regain control.

"I am so sorry, Nûrzgrat," Brytta said quietly.

Flinching from her pity, he tried to rally. He forced himself to take deep breaths and push past the pain. She needed to know. It would be easier if she knew. She wouldn't debate the issue, she wouldn't question him, she'd just... do it.

"I don't see her no more," he whispered. "It ain't _her_ face. I see... I see _you_ in her place."

"You... see me?" she asked.

He didn't want to see the look on her face and kept his eyes averted. "When I first saw you... when we fought those whiteskins for your family... What happened to Frû... happened to _me_. I bonded to you. I couldn't stop it. There wasn't nothin' I could do. I'm sorry." Roughly rubbing his face, he repeated, "I'm sorry."

Brytta took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I know."

Nûrzgrat's brow furrowed and he turned his head to finally look at her. "You know _what_?"

"I know that you are bonded to me," she said.

"_What_?" he blurted.

An unexpectedly embarrassed look stole over her face. "The Orcs... saw it. They found it amusing and told me. They knew what you would do, and wished to frighten me." Shifting uncomfortably, she continued, "I think that is largely why they did me no harm themselves. You were probably right; they wanted _you_ to do it, knowing how it would torment you to cause me harm."

"You've known... all this time," Nûrzgrat growled slowly. He couldn't even think clearly at the moment, yet his face must have betrayed him.

"Please do not be angry with me, Nûrzgrat," Brytta said quickly. "I did not know what to do. I was afraid. I did not understand what it _meant_. Everything changed... in that pit."

"You... knew going in," he said. "You _knew_."

She nodded. "Yes, I did. They made me believe you would..." Wincing, she glanced away for a moment, then met his eyes. "It doesn't matter. Watching you suffer made me realize that I had no greater protector than _you_."

He wasn't sure what to do now, how to react. She _knew_. And said nothing. He didn't even register what else she was saying. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Many things changed for me," she explained, "not the least of which was how I looked at you."

"I don't understand," he said when she paused.

"Nûrzgrat," she sighed, "before I met you, or any of your folk, I thought of Orcs as beasts. I did not regard them as... _people_. I did not imagine that they possessed thoughts and feelings. They were simply animals. Even meeting your clan, I refused to see things any other way. It was easier not to."

A slight smile curved her lips. "I suppose... in their way... the Orcs who captured us helped me see things differently. Their leader, Barash and his mate told me a small amount of their plight. They did not beg mercy; they did not deceive with falsehoods. They could have done far worse than they did. Perhaps... when not driven by the Shadow... they have not the stomach for it. Or they lost the will to commit foul deeds. Whatever the reason, they would have been... justified had they done worse."

Holding Nûrzgrat's yellow gaze, she said urgently, "They were driven into the ground by folk like _me_, Nûrzgrat. They live in squalor, barely scraping a living, because of _me_ and my kind. Their families... mates and young... killed... _by_ me."

"You said you'd never seen a female Orc," Nûrzgrat ventured cautiously.

"I never said that," Brytta said, then squeezed her eyes shut and bit her lip. "I said I'd never _met_ one. I have most assuredly _seen_ them. I have fought them. I have... slain them. Those who were like Shagal, wielding a blade to defend their homes. But more often..." Faltering, she found it very difficult to continue. How often had she bragged to fellow hunters of her deeds, when she felt no remorse for them? Nûrzgrat's past haunted him, waking and sleeping, yet her own foulness had never given her even a moment's disquiet all these years, until this moment. Now she felt more than remorse; she felt shame. "More often, I drove them to their deaths... clutching their babes." Her voice broke and her face showed the horror her memories revealed. Tears flowed down her face unchecked, and weeping rendered her voice barely coherent. "Unarmed... and shielding their young with their bodies. I took their lives though they cried for mercy."

Turning her streaming eyes to Nûrzgrat's unreadable face, she sobbed, "I did not hear their cries. Because I thought them... _animals_. I had no pity." Succumbing to her grief, she drew up her knees and folded her arms upon them, then bowed her head. "I am ashamed. They begged mercy and I withheld it. Because I thought myself their better. But I am _no_ better."

Slowly, she raised her head and looked at him. "Can you... can you ever forgive me?" she asked.

"Course I can," Nûrzgrat said quietly. "Seems we both have... shit we ain't proud of, and don't wanna remember. Can you forgive _me_?"

She gave him a weak smile of relief. "I already have."

He nodded. It seemed a weight was lifted from his shoulders, having _her_ forgiveness. No others' pardon meant as much. Taking a deep breath, he felt strangely at peace. He could face this now. But he still needed her hand in it. His own wasn't strong enough.

"I need you... to do it, Brytta," he said quietly. "I can't. I thought it'd be easy. It ain't. I can't... turn the blade on myself."

"How can you still desire death?" she asked incredulously.

"You _know_ why," he growled. "You saw what happened to Frû. I don't want that. I... hunger for you. I am _starving_ for you. I can't take much more. You leave, go on your way, and... I'll chase after. Like _he_ did." Looking away, he roughly rubbed his face, trying to keep the despair at bay. Trying not to remember that fucking nest, and Frû's desperate plea... "It's worse. He only had a... fading memory to cling to. I've been here with you all this time. I've had _you_... close enough to touch..."

"Nûrzgrat, I will _not_ slay you," Brytta said firmly.

"Just one more Orc," he replied. "Shouldn't matter."

"I... don't... _want_ to," she insisted.

"I ain't _askin'_ you to _want_ to," he snarled, his temper flaring. "I'm _asking_ you to give me _peace_. Spare yourself. I'll chase your ass all over the fucking _world._ You won't be able to get away. You'll be lookin' over your shoulder every day. I'll _find _you. Do you want that?"

"You won't," she said.

"I will! I won't be able to stop myself."

"You will not have to," she said softly.

Nûrzgrat blinked. "What?"

Brytta composed herself. She had never in her life felt it so strongly. Admission was no easy thing, even here and now when such a confession meant the saving of Nûrzgrat's life, for his intention to spare her would surely lead to his end, whether with her help or without it.

"It has taken me several days," she replied, "of being in your company, not only to realize, but to accept. I needed to... understand you. Take your measure."

"What the fuck are you talking about?" he snarled.

"When I allowed myself to look at you," she pressed on, ignoring him, "at _you – _not _what_ you are, but _who_ you are – I found you possessed qualities that are... impossible for me to resist."

"What?" he repeated, then shook his head. "Speak plainly, woman. I don't understand what you're talking about."

Taking a deep breath, Brytta said, "I have found, Nûrzgrat, that... I love you."

He stared at her, uncomprehending for several moments. He had no idea why she would tell him such an outrageous lie, just to spare herself more Orc blood on her hands. That she felt guilt for her own past, he had no doubt, but this was not a kind way of going about things.

"You do not," he snapped.

"I beg your pardon?" she said, startled.

"You _can't_," Nûrzgrat growled.

Straightening, she looked at him as though offended. "What do you mean, I can't?"

"That is _cruel_," he snarled. "Telling me such lies."

"You think I'm _lying_?" she cried. "Why on earth would I lie about something like this?"

"I don't know," he said. "It just... it _can't_ be true."

"Why can't it?" she asked, folding her arms over her chest and regarding him challengingly.

"You have to ask?" he barked, his face contorting with mounting fury. "Told you what I've done. I'm a _monster_."

Brytta sighed heavily and shook her head. "What you _are_ is an arrogant ass. But you are not a monster."

"I am _not_ arrogant!" he roared. "How is it I'm _arrogant_?"

"It is arrogant to believe yourself above others," she replied hotly, "and I think it is just as arrogant to set yourself _below_ them." Glaring at him, she stood and faced eastward. As she spoke, she turned in a circle, so that all might hear in every direction.

"I LOVE NÛRZGRAT!" she shouted. "AND HE DOES NOT BELIEVE ME BECAUSE HE IS A STUBBORN BASTARD!"

Seating herself at his side once more, she gave him an expectant look. "Does that convince you?"

He could only stare at her in shock. He wanted to believe her. He wanted so desperately for it to be true. How precious a thing it was, how rare and wonderful... Had it truly found _him_?

"Nûrzgrat," Brytta said gently, "do you love me? I know you are bonded to me, but do you _love_ me? I trust you know what it means."

"Yeah," he replied shakily. "I see it every day." Speech became difficult as he struggled to accept what she was giving him. He still couldn't be sure she wouldn't pull it away again once his own feelings were known.

But the look on her face... what he'd learned about her... No. She was dead serious. She was no more a liar than he was. She wouldn't say such a thing if she didn't really feel it.

Tension in his shoulders relaxed slowly, and he sighed. "I do... love you, Brytta."

Turning to face him fully, she smiled a little. "Well now, was that so hard?"

An uncertain smile crept slowly across his face and he chuckled a little. "Suppose not." Frowning, he said, "So... what happens now?"

Brytta shifted awkwardly. "I do not know. I confess I have never loved a man as I love you." Looking searchingly into his eyes, she smiled shyly. "Terrifying as it was, I often... recall the pit. Sometimes... I long to return there, if only to be once more in your arms."

"You do?"

"Yes," she replied. Her cheeks colored with embarrassment. "I do not think I am quite prepared to remove my clothing just now... but I am sure that will come in time." Meeting his slightly dumbfounded gaze, she continued awkwardly, "Please forgive me, Nûrzgrat, for wanting to... proceed... slowly. Such a change in our... relations... will require getting used to."

"That's... fine," he replied, nodding. It was still sinking in, and so fragile he feared embracing it too quickly lest it shatter. "Whatever you want. I'll give you whatever you want."

"I know you will," she whispered. "At the moment, I want... your arms about me. I want to sleep in your arms, Nûrzgrat."

He wasn't sure he'd be able to sleep, holding her. But as they lay together on their pallets, his body curled around hers – he was fairly sure Sandy called it 'spooning' – he felt all his tensions release. More than what kept him wound so tightly over the past few days. It was as though another dark presence had been removed.

He'd found his mate. She was _here_. The search was over, the pain of needing such companionship was gone. He filled his senses with her and drifted off to sleep, content for perhaps the first time in his life.


	23. Don't Let the Door Hit You on the Ass

**Don't Let the Door Hit You on the Ass**

The door to the longhouse burst open with a tremendous bang, sending wood chips flying. Morkoth, followed by Ghru, roared inside. Clamping heavy hands upon Faelur's shoulders, Morkoth yanked him bodily off of Mae.

It was not the man's shirt he dug claws into, but his flesh. Faelur screamed from the pain for a moment, then his lungs were deflated by a blow to the gut from an enraged Ghru.

"Stop!" Mae choked even as Sandy rushed to her side, helping her sit up. "Please! Stop!"

"Are you all right?" Sandy urgently asked, wincing over the reddening finger marks about the woman's throat. "Jesus, that bastard," she snarled.

"Make them stop," Mae pleaded, staring in shock as her husband of twenty years was reduced to a bloodied heap at the feet of the Uruk-hai in their wrath. The man had curled into a sobbing ball with his arms wrapped about his head; a growing stain of moisture grew beneath him. Morkoth was on one knee, punching Faelur about the head while Ghru kicked him. "_Please_."

Furrowing her brow with consternation, Sandy rose from the bed and laid a hand on each of the Uruk's arms. "All right, that's enough. Come on, dial it back, boys. Settle down."

Huffing in a fury, Morkoth barely contained his rage. His own mate had been treated this way once, _twice_ before; it was _wrong_. Perhaps Mae was not his mate, but she had been accepted into the clan. She was one of them. An attack upon _her_ was akin to an attack on the rest of them, and would not be tolerated.

Ghru had been poised to dig his claws into Faelur's back and flay him alive. Reluctantly, he stepped back at Sandy's command. Breathing heavily, he glared at the man on the floor, lying in his own piss, and felt a small amount of triumph for _that_ at least.

"Mae is one of ours now," Ghru snarled. "You will not touch her."

"So," Sandy said as she turned back to Mae. It was difficult to curb her _own_ anger. Had her mate budged up a bit, she might have added a few kicks of her own. "Explain why they're not killing him."

"It is not... I do not want him killed," Mae rasped, rubbing her throat. "Perhaps it is _your_ way, but it is not mine. I simply want him to leave. Just... leave." Turning desperate eyes to Sandy, she said, "Can I not have... just _that_?"

Sighing, Sandy bowed her head. "You're a stronger person than I am, I think. _I_ would have let them have him."

Rising to his feet, Morkoth shot a hostile look at Mae. "He has harmed you. He must answer it."

Slowly she stood and forced herself to look the tall, intimidating Uruk in the eyes. "Let his answer be exile. Surely separation from his family... is that not sufficient?"

Morkoth huffed, unconvinced. "In Isengard when someone did harm, he was killed. When someone stole from another, he was killed. When someone betrayed a trust, he was killed."

"You are not in Isengard," Mae replied quietly. "And his... fate is mine to declare, for it is _I_ who is wronged. I say, let him leave by his own power. If... tragedy should befall him beyond this settlement, that is for Eru to decide." Reaching out to touch the Uruk's arm, she said, "Do not dip your hands in the blood of Men again, Morkoth. You led me to believe that was a path you no longer walked."

Chagrined, Morkoth bowed his head and nodded. Even Ghru grunted with reluctant acquiescence. Yet he still bent to grip Faelur painfully by the hair and haul him to his feet.

The man trembled from the pain of his many injuries and the humiliation of being laid so low by these beasts. His trousers were soaked with his shame. Looking upon his wife, quivering with fear and keeping her distance, standing by _that woman_ who had a protective arm about her shoulders, filled him with anger.

"You... have... _no_ right," Faelur gasped, rubbing his throbbing temple. "You spoke a _vow_ to me!"

"And you spoke one to _me_," she retorted, her courage returning now that the members of the clan – _her_ clan, she realized – were there with her. "You promised to honor and protect me. You have done _neither_."

"I have ever kept you safe," he protested, beginning to plead in desperation. "I spared no coin in ensuring..."

Mae shook her head sadly. "The things you sought to shield me from were _outside_. You did nothing to spare me from the monster _inside_. It has consumed you. I want none of it. Reject it, and perhaps... perhaps I may forgive you."

"There is nothing inside me," he snarled. "You are deluded by this woman and her... beasts. It is _they_ who have deceived you!" Turning a contemptuous glare on Sandy, he leveled an accusatory finger at her. "_She_ has led you astray! _She_ has enticed you away from me with her lies. It is because of _her _that you now wish to couple with _Orcs_!"

Mae was once again startled by such a crude and completely unjustified accusation. Sandy puffed up angrily and addresed the statements head-on.

"_I've_ enticed... What the _hell_ is your problem? Are you making this shit up as you go along? Not _once_ has the subject come up!" Stepping forward, she thrust a challenging finger into Faelur's bruised chest and smirked a little when he winced. "Trust me, asshole, I'm not printing posters and nailing them to telephone poles. I do _not_ go around telling women to pick up random Orcs and have a go at them. Judging by what a _prince_ you've been lately, I would guess that the _last_ thing Mae would want is some stupid-ass man – _or Orc_ – getting all up in her business. You know what I _did_ show her? That she doesn't have to grovel before your worthless ass, that's what. Maybe all she saw was that me and Brie stand as _equals_ with our mates. Maybe she kind of liked that idea. If _anything_ has led to this breakup, I'm fairly confident it was _you_ spouting your 'women should lick my boots' shtick, because there was absolutely _no_ murmur of rebellion before _your_ mouth started going!"

Quivering with rage, Faelur pulled back his arm to deliver a halt to the woman's inappropriately bold tirade, but when his fist shot forward, it was met by an iron grip about the wrist and a painful wrenching that spun him around against his will. Then Sandy yanked his hand up between his shoulder blades, arching his back painfully as he tried to compensate for the awkward angle. A whimper escaped him. Sandy growled in his ear, "Make my _fucking_ day, asshole." Then she released him and kicked his backside out the door of the longhouse. He staggered off-balance a few paces and landed face down in the dirt.

The loud voices and commotion in the longhouse attracted the attention of the youngsters, and all were present when Faelur was thrust out the door and felled before them. Gwen turned her face away, biting her lip and hugging herself. Afraid to show too openly his growing interest in Gwen, Thakûf restrained himself from embracing her, but he stood close, letting his body touch hers reassuringly. He was gratified to feel her lean against him.

Razkaar stared dumbfounded, his jaw hanging open. Ilsa ran for her safe place.

Faelur struggled to stand. Being bested by two Orcs was not as humiliating as Sandy's treatment. Sick with anger, he turned toward the group as it filed out of the longhouse. "You are still my wife!" he roared, pointing at Mae. She flinched but did not reply.

"You will leave now," Ghru snarled, pointing to the path leading to the river. "Follow the river west. It will strike the road. Stay on that road and you will find Gondor sooner or later."

"I am _not_ leaving without my _wife_," Faelur snapped.

"You will leave," Morkoth growled, stepping closer. Faelur flinched and retreated a few steps. "We'll give you half a day's head start."

Startled, Faelur froze and stared at the giant Uruk. "Head... start?" he said hesitantly.

"Aye," Ghru agreed. "Half a day, then we go on the hunt. You'd best be far from here."

"No, please," Mae whimpered. "Don't." Morkoth looked over his shoulder at her and closed one eye briefly. Startled, Mae blinked at him in confusion. Had he just winked as a man would? What did it mean, coming from one of _his_ kind?

"Mae, please," Faelur begged, appealing to her, for she seemed the only one among them with mercy. "I was... I was seduced as... as you were. Their foulness, their vile deeds, their wickedness... It was not my fault... I fell into the same darkness that consumes _them_. I... _please_..."

"We don't do that shit," Thakûf said in a low voice. Though it was intimidating to have all eyes suddenly on him, some surprised that he would stand up so boldly, he was an adult now. His word held weight here where it didn't only a few days past, and he had things to say. "I ain't never seen one'uh our kind do the shit you did. Not to me, not to Raz or Ilsa." His eyes flicked to Mae and the darkening bruises on her face and neck. Scowling, a rumbling growl came from deep inside him. "Whatever made you do that to your _mate_, you brought it. We didn't show it to you. You didn't get it from _us_. So you better take it away, cause we don't want it here."

Sandy had to cover her mouth to hide the smile and stave off the proud tears that were threatening to rise. Good god, he'd grown up so damn fast! And to see Gwen cleaved to his side, looking up at him with admiration... _Oh my goodness_, she thought with a mixture of amusement and relief, _better keep an eye on those two_.

From the doorway of her shelter, Brianna leaned against the frame and glared at the man. "You need to go, Faelur," she said firmly. "We don't have Morkoth and Ghru on leashes. They'll do what they feel compelled to do if you're stupid enough to let them catch you. I'm sure they consider the countdown already started."

Stiffening in terror, Faelur cast one more desperate look at Mae. Her head was bowed; she wouldn't even look one last time at him.

"No hope in that direction, asshole," Sandy growled. "Get a move on. They're itching for the chase already."

"You will all be paid for this," Faelur snarled shakily. "This is not the end of it by a long mile!" Then he turned and bolted into the trees.

As soon as he was gone, Brianna hastened across the common area to Mae's side and joined Sandy in hugging her. Gwen tore herself away from Thakûf and ran to her as well. Morkoth and Ghru approached Thakûf and each dropped a heavy hand on his shoulders, giving him a brief nod of approval. He swelled with pride; he'd done something _right_ for a change.

Easing herself onto a log by the firepit, Mae held onto her daughter and appealed to Morkoth, for Ghru was already helping his mate back to her bed. "Please tell me... you will not do him harm."

Morkoth squatted down in front of her and his features softened somewhat. "No. You are right; we should not walk that path again. The threat put fear in him; we will chase, but only to keep him moving. He has no woodlore; he won't know how to return. You and Gwen are safe here."

"Do you think... he will be able to tell others of this place?"

Sighing, Morkoth sagged a little. "I do not know. If he is not slain on the road by Men of Dunland, or by Orcs, he might. We will manage that if it comes."

"Next time the Elves pay us a visit," Sandy said, "I'll put a bug in their ears. Maybe they'll come by a little more often. Just in case."

"Why would you put a bug in their ears?" Morkoth asked, bewildered.

Chuckling, she shook her head. "Never mind."

* * *

Faelur could hear them coming for him, even before the day was gone. Running blindly through the woods, he'd lost his way to the river and blundered through underbrush for miles. It seemed every time he stopped to catch his breath, he could _hear_ it: the huffing breaths of pursuing beasts. Night fell and he kept going, for fear that sleep would bring them quicker.

When he reached a civilized settlement, he told himself, they would pay. He couldn't recall the name of the river by which they built their houses, but surely there weren't so many in the region that _someone_ wouldn't know how to find them again.

Another day of exhausted running and he was ready to collapse in a heap. Yet still he heard the thunder of their great feet, cleverly stilled whenever he ceased moving. Undoubtedly taunting him, fooling him into thinking they no longer chased. He knew better. He could hear their grunting and growling with every footstep taken.

He could not find his way out of these woods! It seemed he went deeper in, not farther out. He never found the road the beast told him of, realizing now it was a lie. Night came again, and he had to slow. His poorly conditioned limbs could take him no further without a rest.

Every creak of a branch or sigh of the wind had him whirling in a panic. For a moment he tried to breathe calmly, for though the forest had its noises, they seemed benign enough. Surely if those monsters were near, they would have been upon him before now. Perhaps he managed to elude them. Perhaps he might get some proper rest. Perhaps...

A twig snapped not far off, and he spun in the direction of the sound. Three dark shapes coalesced in the gloom, approaching him. Faelur felt wetness grow between his legs once more and a whimper escaped his lips.

"Now lookit this, eh?" a feral, growling voice said. "Right popular spot, this. Ain't seen so much traffic as lately."

"Don't half make up for losing the other one, though," another snarled.

The figures stepped into the moonlight bathing the clearing, and Faelur saw to his horror that these were not the same creatures he'd thought were hunting him. Not at all.

"Don't pout, my pet," the first said. His hideous face was made uglier by the leather patch sewn into the flesh around one eye. "Just make do. Damn thing was just _tainted_ with Man's blood. _This_ one's all over Man. Don't that sound like fun?"

The second leaned close enough for Faelur to smell its foul breath and see its rotten, jagged teeth. A third loomed over them both, a leering grin on his face. The man recoiled.

"Aye," the second purred, reaching between Faelur's legs and giving him a squeeze. "Ain't as good as the Half-Man, but he'll do in a pinch."


	24. First Things First

**First Things First**

Nûrzgrat jerked to wakefulness flat on his back, staring at a cloudy sky. Blinking the sleep from his eyes, he took deep, calming breaths. He was not in Isengard anymore, he reminded himself. Just a dream.

Frowning, he wondered if last evening was a dream as well. _Must've been_, he thought. _She ain't here by me_.

Brytta was fussing with the campfire, trying to get it lit in the damp morning. He watched her striking the flint, a look of determination on her face, and felt his gut clench hard. It was so real, and sharply etched in his memory, but obviously a desperate hope borne of his grief. He really just... didn't want to die. What a stupid thing to imagine in order to save himself, that someone like _Brytta_ might care for him. Turning his eyes to the sky again, he swallowed the constriction forming in his throat.

Why did Frû's death still haunt him? He couldn't even _count_ the number of stupid fucking Uruk-hai he'd slain over the years. Not a _one_ made him bat an eye after. Many did less than this gross inconvenience Frû put him through. Yet his throat closed and his eyes burned. His _heart_ hurt. That son of a bitch's tear-streaked face kept coming to him when his eyes closed.

There was an ache at the back of his throat, something in the pit of his belly that wanted out. It wasn't more of that watery shit coming from his eyes. It was something else entirely; something he'd never felt before, and knew he didn't _want_ to feel. Whatever it was, he seemed to know it would hurt coming out.

A thought at the back of his mind kept whispering, _Wasn't there another way? Couldn't you have spared him? Wasn't there __**something**__ you could've done?_ Death's the only cure, they said. If _snaga_ Orcs didn't know, nobody did. And he _asked_. He knew himself, in his gut, what he needed, and he asked Nûrzgrat to give it to him.

If Nûrzgrat had taken a moment to think on it, he wondered if he'd still have the heart to do it, even knowing the other's pain. _This_ pain was somehow worse. He'd have gladly beaten the fucker into the ground, kicked the shit out of him, done _anything_ to knock that female out of his head. Anything but what he did. He was sick to his stomach over it, and didn't understand _why_.

"Will you lie abed all day, or come have breakfast?" Brytta asked softly.

"Don't rush me, woman," he groused, slowly sitting up. He didn't want to look at her; what he dreamed she'd said, the things _he'd _said... If it was a dream, it was better left unrepeated. If not, it was quite possibly the most humiliating thing he'd ever done. He took a long, shuddering breath and rubbed his face.

Did he really tell her about all that black shit running through him? He can't have, he reasoned. She'd've killed him by now. _But it was so real_.

He heard her approaching and looked away. She knelt beside him, facing him.

"Nûrzgrat," she said gently, and put her hand on his shoulder. "Are you well?" He grunted and nodded. She sighed. "You are a terrible liar. Barash said you would be."

He furrowed his brow and finally looked at her. "Barash?"

"The one-legged Orc," she explained, reaching up and brushing his hair from his temple, tucking it behind his ear. "He said Isengarders could not tell lies."

Nûrzgrat felt as though he'd been ambushed by a pack of rabbits, so unexpected was her touch. His eyes widened and his mouth hung open.

"This shocks you?" she asked, noting his expression. "I found it an odd compliment myself, though I am not so certain it was meant in that way."

"Did I... dream it?" he whispered uncertainly.

Frowning, Brytta said, "Dream what?"

"You...," he began, then swallowed. Her fingers had left his ear, leaving him feeling loosened from a mooring. "I... held you..."

A small smile flitted shyly across her face and her cheeks darkened. "It was not for lack of enjoyment that I left your arms, Nûrzgrat. You were squeezing me so tightly, I could scarcely breathe." Her brow pinched in sympathy. "Your nightmares, I expect."

The flood of realization hit him like the wave that pushed him and the others out the last tunnel to safety when the waters came and destroyed everything they knew. He felt just as relieved, renewed, and elated as he did then.

"Then... you really told me you..." He found he could barely say it. It was still too precious and fragile, and he so ham-fisted he knew he'd break it if he touched it.

"I did," she said, cupping his cheek in her cool palm. "I love you, and you are still stubbornly denying it, aren't you? Now do stop being a lazy Orc and come to the fire." Grinning, she rose and went back to laying out their breakfasts.

"Ain't _denyin'_ it," he grumbled, getting up to stretch. "Just... didn't think you really said that."

"It was not an easy thing to say," she said quietly. "I have ever held my heart close." Chuckling a little, she added, "When one pretends to be a man, one does not reveal much."

"Suppose not," he conceded, sitting beside her. He found he had no appetite, the loss of Frû still weighing heavily on his stomach. "Ain't hungry," he muttered when she offered him a strip of warmed meat.

"Your heart is not lightened," she observed. "I confess, I hoped... If you knew you need not suffer as Frû did, you would be... happy."

"I am," he replied morosely.

"That does not sound convincing," she said.

"I...," Nûrzgrat began, and swallowed hard. His voice shook. "I didn't wanna do that."

"I know you didn't," she replied softly, and wrapped her arm around his shoulders.

"Promised him... I'd follow."

"You will, some day," she said. "I do not think he would begrudge you the wait, do you?"

Nûrzgrat shrugged. He was afraid to say anything else, so close to the surface were those hated tears. Why the fuck would they plague him _now_? It wasn't like he was _sorry_... or he _missed_ that pathetic fuckwit...

"You are safe here, with me," Brytta urged gently. "You may show yourself. I will not judge you. In truth, though I did not know him, I am sorry for his ending. He... he did a brave thing, choosing as he did. Would it comfort you to know that Hengolwen wept for him?"

Startled, Nûrzgrat furrowed his brow. "She did?"

"Yes," Brytta nodded. "Perhaps, had there not been such grief between them, she might have... Things might have been different."

"It wasn't his fault," Nûrzgrat growled, his jaw clenching. "Master... sent us... to do those things. We didn't know. We didn't _know_." Biting his lip, he drew blood to stop the sorrow burning like a hot brand in his gut. He raised a shaking hand to cover his eyes, hold in the tears. _Don't let me weep here, not in front of __**her**__, for fuck's sake!_

"Nûrzgrat," she soothed, rubbing his back, "I admire your strength. I have been privileged to be lent it at times, for you are generous. Do not abuse it so. I will not think less of you. Frû was your clanmate; your _friend_. His loss clearly weighs upon your heart. Please let go the burden of this pain before it consumes you."

"Orcs. Don't. _Fucking_. Weep," he snarled harshly.

"Then they are fools," she said sternly. "I have seen grief made hate in the eyes of many Orcs. My deeds, those of my fellows, have certainly driven at least some of them from their holes in vengeance. Would you hold your grief so tightly to yourself that only in anger is it is assuaged? Weep for him, if you feel the need, Nûrzgrat. Let the tears come, for upon such a wave rides the poison of despair. It is best purged, lest it fester and become something beyond your control."

"I... _can't_," he growled and looked away.

"Perhaps in time," she conceded. "Remember you no longer walk alone. I am beside you now."

He met her gaze, those rich eyes with green flecks that seemed like earth, steady and reassuring beneath his feet, and softened somewhat. "Don't know what to do with it. Or what it means."

"You have seen how your clanmates behave, have you not?" she asked, arching her brow.

Nûrzgrat nodded. "Aye. Lot of touchin' and kissin' and whatnot. Not so much these days, though. Brie was too big with Ghru's whelp; Sandy was runnin' round after Ashmau since he got his legs workin'." Chuckling, he shook his head. "Ain't used to seein' that. Newborn Uruk looks like _me_. Not a little runt like Ashmau. Or Ilsa." He choked, and a lump formed in his throat, thinking of that little girl. "Miss'em, I do. Thought I was... gonna leave'em. Just... walk away, never come back."

"Why would you think that?"

"Seein'em every day," he shrugged. "Not having a chance at the same. No mate of my own. No young of my blood. Nothin'..." He squeezed his eyes shut. "Thought it would... turn me inside out, wantin' all that, knowin' I'd never get it. Didn't think I'd ever... be worthy of it, either. So it wasn't ever gonna come to me."

"I believe Barash's folk did not understand your people well at all," Brytta said. "He said you would take me by force, naturally. I think he truly believed it. But you didn't. I do not think you have it in you anymore. Nor is your... need... so simple as that." Leaning against him, she rested her head on his shoulder. "Nûrzgrat, if I did not think you worthy, I would not love you as I do. You deserve all that you seek. I hope that you find it within me."

"Well," Nûrzgrat replied unsteadily as he awkwardly put his arm around her waist, "I'm bonded to yuh. If it ain't there, I suppose I'm fucked, eh?"

"Yes, quite... fucked," she replied with an embarrassed giggle.

They sat close for several minutes before Brytta reluctantly drew away. "We should move on. Put another day's walk behind us."

"Yeah," Nûrzgrat replied. He was finding it easier to talk. She wasn't Brianna, but... perhaps the bond loosed his tongue. He'd certainly never told Brie _all_ of it. There may have been things implied, but he hadn't told her _everything_. With Brytta, it was somehow... natural to reveal himself.

And it felt better. Like at least a small weight had been removed.

After clearing their campsite, they walked side-by-side, sometimes talking of inconsequential things, but more often just enjoying the quiet companionship. Nûrzgrat hadn't known this was part of it; just... _being_ with his mate, and how warm it made him feel. Not burning for a fuck, though there was an almost constant throb in his loins. It had been going on so long around her, he'd learned to ignore it. The only time it was a serious challenge was in the pit, the air thick with female musk and male seed...

Swallowing hard, he fixed his eyes on the horizon and tried desperately not to remember that part. If he must go back there in his mind, the better memory was holding her in his arms, feeling her sink into his body. Catching the barest hints of her scent past the cloud of Shagal's heat...

Nûrzgrat shook his head and snorted. Something odd... He could smell something... _somewhat_ similar to Shagal, only it was very much connected to Brytta. He'd schooled himself to ignore her scent over the last leg of their journey, focusing entirely on Frû's scent trail. Now that things were settled down, it seemed his nose shifted its awareness and locked onto Brytta.

Not unexpected, particularly given recent events, but he didn't remember her smelling so... _good_. Good enough to want to lick the fucking _air_ around her. Furrowing his brow in confusion, he darted a look at her. She seemed lost in thought, chewing on her lip. Not doing anything.

About as innocently 'not doing anything' as Sandy the night she unleashed a wave of sex scent upon the entire group because she was thinking about Morkoth.

His eyes shot ahead once more. Was she... imagining him? As Brie told him Sandy was imagining Morkoth? A slow smile crept across his face, uncertain yet smug.

Breathing in deeply, he decided to just bask in it for a bit longer, and not say anything. This was for _him_. He'd picked up on Sandy and Brie's heat scents many times; Brytta's was a bit different, unmistakably her, and focused on _him_. He was glad he was wearing loose cloth breeches, because his cock couldn't get much harder than _this_.

Then his eyes widened in alarm. That scent wasn't simply entertaining or a source of pride; it was actually driving him. He began to have trouble breathing calmly as the urge became more difficult to deny. With it came the almost irrational thought that if he didn't lay claim to her, another might.

He needed to _mate_. It was no longer a smolder but a raging fire. Gasping, he halted and tried to get a grip on himself.

"Nûrzgrat?" she asked, stopping and turning to him.

"Whuh... what're you thinkin'?" he asked tightly. "Right now."

Brytta blushed furiously and looked away. Nûrzgrat groaned, rubbing his face.

"I suppose," she ventured awkwardly, "Sandy was not exaggerating when she said you could read my thoughts."

"Ain't yer _thoughts_," he growled. "It's your _scent_."

"Which... must surely be influenced by my _thoughts_," she confessed quietly. "I am wondering to myself... what it may be like... to kiss you."

Snorting, he shook his head with amusement. "You whiteskins and your fuckin' 'kissing' shit. Orcs ain't the kissin' type."

"Oh?" she said, raising her eyebrows with mild interest. "What do Orcs do then?"

Suddenly uncomfortable, he ducked his head and looked away. "Uh... Orcs... bite."

"Do they?" she said. "Such as the... marking you spoke of?"

Wincing, he nodded.

"And this is... better than kissing, in your experience?" she asked skeptically.

"Don't know about... better, just... like I said, we're driven to it," he said awkwardly. Though he tried to push it away, the woman from the pits and her ravaged throat came swiftly, uncomfortably, to mind. "Morkoth... figured out how to do it right," he added. "Cause... Sandy didn't want any of that, but he _needed_ it. Now... fuck, she's likely covered in his bites." He chuckled hollowly.

"So it is not just the neck, but... other places?" she pressed, a slight smile forming. Watching him fumble about, cheeks darkening, looking anywhere but at her... He looked quite like a much younger man in his embarrassment, discussing such things. She found it somehow endearing. And the quickening of his breath, the clear evidence of his arousal, the purring sound in his chest... all quite alluring.

"Aye," he muttered, swallowing hard. He nervously clenched and released his hands at his sides.

Brytta watched him struggle for a moment, then sighed. "You hold yourself back with such restraint even now. Do you fear even letting yourself touch me?"

"I ain't... known... for bein' gentle," he gasped, his body beginning to quiver like a taut bowstring. It seemed the longer they stood there, the stronger her scent became. He felt as though he was drowning in it.

"Shall I lead, then?" she murmured.

"Uh... lead?" he said uncertainly.

"Judging by your state," Brytta said, pursing her lips to keep from smiling, "my own desires must surely be known to you. I would like... a kiss. Would you allow me to do that?"

He scoffed. "Kissed Brie once. Don't see what the fuckin' fuss is all about. Ain't the same kinduh thing at all."

"Isn't it?" she asked mildly. "What makes biting so much... better?"

"Leaves a mark," he said. "So other Orcs see you been claimed. Keep his hands the fuck off yuh. Comes natural."

"And you wish to lay claim to me in such a manner?" she asked, narrowing her eyes.

"It's... more'n that," he insisted desperately. He didn't know how to explain something to her that barely made sense to _him_. It just _was_. It felt _right_. Something in the gut that told him this was the way it was. "It's the blood. Sort of a... trust business, I suppose. And Orcs just... sort of... like the taste. Not for eatin'," he added quickly when her brow furrowed. Grimacing, he looked away. "You wouldn't understand."

"Help me understand, then," she said gently, her face smoothing.

Taking a shuddering breath, he fidgeted a bit, then said, "Orcs... like the taste of blood, in general. Blood of a mate, though... that's different. _Snaga_ Orcs said as much; Morkoth told me as well. It's just... different. Like... sweeter tastin'. Cause it's _given_, not taken. He said... when Sandy gave it up to him, it was... well... more'n when she mated with him the first time. Trustin' him like that. Cause she knew he wasn't tryin' to kill'er." He shrugged helplessly. "Can't really explain it, cause I ain't never..." He swallowed and went silent.

"You say Morkoth learned how it was done?" she prompted. To hear him speak of it, the idea was actually somewhat... less than repellent. A good deal less than repellent, in truth. She felt the interest in such attentions from him as an unexpected ripple of longing through her center.

"Aye," he nodded. "It's, uh, done while you're... matin'." His heart began to pound faster, his breath to quicken. How could her scent possibly _strengthen_? His quivering became shaking. "It's done... towards the back," he said unsteadily, reaching out to touch her. His fingers brushed the muscle running behind her ear into her shoulder. "Away from dangerous places, where a good bite would kill." Again, the image of that woman came and he pushed her away as hard as he could. The feel of her in his hand, accepting his nearness, his touch... His fucking _knees_ felt weak! And her eyes, the dark centers nearly swallowing up the brown. Her lips parted, and her tongue moistened them. He stopped breathing for a moment and had to remind himself _how_.

"And... then?" she urged.

"You... gotta wait until... she's... ready," he gasped, his chest heaving. How the _fuck_ was he not on her? _Because she's leadin'_, he reminded himself. _Apparently she wants to torture you for a bit. Take it. Just... fuckin' take it._

"How do you know when she's... ready?" Brytta whispered huskily.

"Morkoth said... you can feel when she's... gonna come," he said brokenly. "Yuh do it right then, so's she don't feel the pain as much. Mind's elsewhere, I suppose." He tried a smile, and could feel how apologetic it was. When Morkoth told him of this, maybe half a year ago, Nûrzgrat hadn't been _this_ affected. Right now, he could barely stand. He wanted to fall upon her and _get_ her ready for his mark. Except... he didn't know how to go about _that_ either.

Unlike Thakûf, he hadn't made a study of his fellows' mating techniques. The pack mentality of wizard-touched Uruk-hai made them join in. Maybe things had changed since then, but Nûrzgrat never wanted to take the chance. Then, by the time they reached the settlment and began building their homes, he realized he didn't want to look in on them for an entirely different reason.

It would piss them off. Mating was not a thing you did in front of a crowd. And by then, he actually gave a shit what others thought. The barracks where violations occurred out in the open as a matter of routine were finally far enough behind him that he could recognize something whiteskins took for granted: the need for, and the _respect_ for, privacy.

That lesson had, unfortunately, cost him, now that he was within arm's reach of the one person in the entire world he couldn't harm no matter what the provocation, and all he knew how to do was _cause_ harm.

"So Orcs do not simply... kiss," Brytta said, breaking into his thoughts.

Shaking himself, he shrugged. "Yeah, they do. If they got whiteskin mates. Morkoth and Ghru're kissin' their mates all the fuckin' time. Probably cause it pleases Sandy and Brie. Still don't know what the fuss is about."

"You said you kissed Brianna," she said. "You didn't like it?"

"Didn't do a thing," he said dismissively. "Just seein' what it was like. Weren't like nothin'. She said if I kissed my _mate_, it'd be different. Don't see how."

"I think it would be," Brytta said with a smile. "I imagine you have thought of me as your mate for some while."

"Yeah," he nodded, bowing his head, "I have."

"I am not offended," she said gently. "I would welcome your kiss, Nûrzgrat."

Huffing a sigh and rolling his eyes a bit, Nûrzgrat said, "If that's what you want."

"Yes," she smiled. "I think that would please me."

She tilted her head back to receive him, and shrugging with resignation, he leaned forward and briefly tapped her lips with his. While the intimacy set off a little ripple through his body, it was almost imperceptible amidst the raging fires already going wild within him. Certainly nothing _special_.

Brytta gave him a withering look. "Oh my goodness," she said, shaking her head. "That is _not_ a kiss."

Flaring up indignantly, and not a little ashamed at his ignorance, he growled, "Well... it ain't like I know how to fuckin' _do_ it!"

A smile crossed her face. "Oh, Nûrzgrat," she said with amusement, "must I teach you?"

Catching the teasing note in her voice, he sort of smiled a little and ducked his head. "Guess you'll have to, if you think you're able."

"I accept your challenge," she grinned, and reached up to cup his face.

Furrowing his brow uncertainly, he relaxed the tension in his spine, allowing her to draw him down. Even before her lips touched his, something was different. So... fucking... _different_. And then they touched, and his soul sighed.

Her lips pressed his gently, lingering there for a few heartbeats. A soft groan escaped him, ever so briefly. His breath caught and held. Her pliant lips parted, seeming to urge his into like movement. His grasping hands found purchase on her hips and held firmly.

Too soon, she drew back, smiling gently. "Now, was that worth... fussing about?"

"Aye," he gasped. "That's... worth a fuss." Pressing his forehead against hers, he whispered, "Think I might wanna... fuss some more."

Chuckling, Brytta kissed him again, her arms encircling his neck. His hands left her hips and pulled her into his embrace. As the sun began to set, they were too busy fussing to notice.


	25. Ah Sweet Mystery of Life

**Ah, Sweet Mystery of Life, At Last I've Found You**

Nûrzgrat had seen the kissing his fellows engaged in frequently, never imagining how it would feel for _him_. It was like being hit with the bond all over again; the quickening of his breath, the thudding of his heartbeat, the tingling in his fingers and toes, the ripple and quiver of his loins, the hardening of his cock, the urge to mate so _incredibly_ strong...

Still, the warning blared in his head, the vision of the woman torn open, and he stayed his hand, retreating a few paces. She did not _need_ to wear Brytta's face as a reminder, yet she did.

Gazing at him with concern, Brytta said softly, "Come, Nûrzgrat. Lie next to me." She extended a hand invitingly.

Perhaps unconsciously, they'd agreed to a more secure campsight than usual. A natural hollow eroded in the side of a rocky outcropping afforded them protection from three sides; on the fourth side he'd laid their small fire. Coming from the west, they'd found no people or horses in this area; none seemed to have come back this way now that they were headed home. It was relatively safe; no particular need for someone to stand watch.

But he was afraid for the first time in his life. Truly terrified. He would have welcomed watch duty tonight.

Sighing, she stepped toward him and took his hand. "Lie next to me," she coaxed gently. "I do not fear you."

"Fear myself," he growled tightly, jaw clenched. "See her. When I look at you. Don't want to... Not to you."

"You fear the unknown," she said, pulling lightly on his hand. She was gratified that he responded, though slowly, and allowed himself to be led into the hollow. "You should face your fears."

Stopping abruptly, he snarled, "Ain't nothin' good about facin' my fears if it's gonna make you _dead_, Brytta."

Raising an eyebrow, she turned to him. "You have had _ample_ opportunity to 'make me dead,' Nûrzgrat. You have yet to fulfill that promise."

"Wasn't nosin' about yuh like this then, neither," he snapped. Stepping up close, he glared down at her, his voice a threatening rumble in his chest. "Know what I want? When I'm near yuh? Wanna mate. Mate _hard_, Brytta. Throw you down and have you. I want my cock in your cunt so fucking _hard_..."

His words were cut off by a stinging slap, and he blinked with surprise.

"I do _not_ like that word," Brytta snarled. "I will thank you not to use it again, particularly to describe... any part of _me_."

Cobbling his anger back into place to cover his embarrassment, he snapped, "What do I call it, then, eh? Got a fancy _Man's_ word for 'cunt,' have you?"

"_Gentlemen_ do not even bring it up," she retorted, folding her arms over her chest.

"I ain't a _gentleman_," Nûrzgrat snarled, then turned and stomped out of the hollow, cursing her, cursing himself. He felt so _stupid_, as if every word out of him was now suddenly under scrutiny and he was found lacking. Maybe he was better off with someone like Shagal after all. _She_ never said a fucking thing about his words! But whiteskins always did. Gurvalthen chided him about it; sometimes even Brie and Sandy gave him an annoyed look. Maybe they didn't look at him like he was filth the rest of the time, but... He just didn't want to see anything like that kind of look from Brytta, but he didn't know how he could possibly avoid it. He opened his mouth and shit came out; he'd always been that way.

Watching him standing in the moonlight, rigid and unyielding, Brytta wondered what to do with him. The rough talk of soldiers had never bothered her, and truly, _his_ foul mouth didn't much either. It was his natural way, she'd found, though it had never been hers. That did not mean she thought any less of him for it.

It was rather embarrassing to admit, but until he said the hated word, his passion and closeness had aroused her considerably. Her heart fairly skipped a beat over the images his snarled words painted in her mind. Though he'd been attempting to warn her of a possibly brutal encounter, she did not believe him for a moment. He was not the same Uruk anymore. She felt confident that even the passions of lovemaking would not revive that long-dead monster he so feared. In truth, she was not frightened by the prospect of dancing so close to his fire. Had she been, perhaps she would not be approaching him now.

"Nûrzgrat," she said, laying a gentle hand on his quivering shoulder. "It is sometimes called a 'sheath.' I do not think I need to explain the reason for that, do I?"

Uncertain, he glanced back at her. "I ain't stupid," he growled.

"I know you are not," she replied, letting her hand slide slowly down his back. "None would follow you with as much loyalty as your clan does if you were."

Her hand's movement made him catch his breath. He thought he'd want a rough touch, a bite or a claw digging into his hide, but the feather-light caress nearly robbed him of his will. It was a struggle to swallow as her fingers brushed over his backside.

"Come to the hollow, Nûrzgrat," she whispered, retreating and taking the sweet touches with her.

Feeling like an obedient pup, he followed her to their campsite. He wasn't sure who his master was; his mate or his cock. Maybe both? Swallowing hard with no clear answer, he sat on his pallet and rested his arms over his upraised knees. He stared sullenly into the fire.

"You know," Brytta said conversationally as she stirred the coals, "I have heard many words for... a woman's... 'sheath' over the years. Far more for a man's... endowments." She glanced at his face and smiled shyly. "Shall I tell you some?"

"Which?" he asked warily. "Man's or woman's?" If she thought to lessen his need for release by talking about cunts and cocks, he'd have to tell her that wouldn't work. This was not a topic of conversation that could possibly end without a rut.

"Oh, woman's, I think, since that is likely a poorly explored area for the Uruk-hai," she said. Smiling, she added, "Many of them are coined by women themselves, and as you said, your folk are sadly lacking in them."

Grunting a slight chuckle, his brow rose and his mouth twitched a bit. "All right then. Whatcha got?" He leaned back against the rock wall of the hollow and smirked at her.

"Let me see," she said thoughtfully, gazing off into space. "The tamest is likely 'woman parts,' which I'm sure is of no interest to you. Dag, one of the men in our group, used to refer to it as a 'pleasure mine.'" She laughed in spite of herself. "I am afraid he rarely found treasures where _he_ delved, yet no amount of trips to the apothecary dissuaded him from his search."

Glancing at Nûrzgrat, she grinned at his incredulous expression. "One man I knew called it a 'hot pot.' Another was, actually, far more crude even than _you_, and simply said 'fuck hole.' I never liked him, I'm afraid. Not for _that_," she assured him, noting the Uruk's uncomfortable look. "He... did worse... even than _I_ did when..." She looked away, wincing at the memories long laid to rest.

"When what?" Nûrzgrat asked quietly. "Killin' Orcs?"

She nodded. "There were some who... wished to pay the Orcs back for... certain... things. His.. wife was..." She shook her head, trying to dislodge the memory, send it back to its hole. "When he found female Orcs, he... repaid them for his wife in a... most brutal fashion."

Nûrzgrat watched her twitching face and wincing expression. "Raped'em, did he?" he growled, angry at the thought.

Brytta swallowed hard and would not look at him. "With... a sword, in a manner of speaking, yes." She covered her mouth and held her stomach. She had merely looked away then; she desperately needed to vomit now.

A low growl rumbled from Nûrzgrat. "Dead now, I hope?"

"Indeed," she rasped. "I thought it... excessive then, but now..." Turning to Nûrzgrat, she said, "He was found with... quite an unbelievably large amount of... seed about him. The Orcs must have thought to pay him in kind for what he did to their mates. It is likely... three dozen or more... Well, suffice to say, his organs had been removed yet his body was full to bursting."

Nûrzgrat burst out laughing, as though hearing the unexpectedly hilarious punchline to a good joke. "Ah, them northerners!" he barked. "Always did have an odd sense of humor."

Her brow still furrowed, she said, "He was avenged, Nûrzgrat. An entire village, young and old alike. For the defiling of one man. None considered the Orcs' act justified." Closing her eyes, she bowed her head. "_I_ did not either, at the time." The Uruk sobered. She was glad that he didn't ask if _she_ had participated in the slaughter.

An awkward silence stretched between them. In a feeble attempt to reclaim their earlier good humor, Nûrzgrat said, "So... what about... a man's... other names for it?"

Smiling a little, she glanced up at him. "I am certain you can tell me more than I can think of."

He shrugged. "Couple'uh words, maybe. The lads mostly used cock. Or meat. Got anything better?"

Her shy grin broadened a touch. "Well, among my fellows, they particularly favored 'rider's pike,' though I am not sure why since none of them were from Rohan. Dag had a colorful array, likely picked up among his... ladies."

Interest and humor effectively renewed, Nûrzgrat tilted his head to the side. "Like?"

"It is difficult to remember them all," she said, blushing, "but I believe his favorites were 'third leg,' 'great goblin,' and 'whore-sticker.'"

Nûrzgrat exploded with laughter. "Great goblin?" he wheezed.

"Well, you see," she explained, fighting off a tremendous wave of embarrassment, "Goblins are mostly found... underground... in _mines_."

"And I suppose this Dag thought his worthy of 'great,' eh?" he chuckled.

Trying hard not to smile too broadly, Brytta said, "Of course he did. His boasting was... unfounded, shall we say?"

"Had yerself a peek, Brytta?" Nûrzgrat murmured slyly.

Straightening primly, she looked down her nose at him. "I pretended to be a _man_, Nûrzgrat. I did not pretend to be _dead_."

Suddenly overtaken with male competitiveness and worry over his own endowments, Nûrzgrat frowned and looked away. "Bet you've... seen yer share, then. Know what yuh want and all."

As happened often when Nûrzgrat's innermost fears and discomforts peeked through his hardened shell, Brytta found herself drawn to him. Not out of pity, but out of desire, as though with the solid wall momentarily breeched, she could embrace the Uruk within. And she so longed to do that.

Moving to his side, she sat close, half turned to him. The sight of his aroused member no longer seemed a threat, but rather an invitation. She let her gaze linger there before meeting his eyes. His breath had quickened under her gaze, clearly aware of _what_ she was looking at. "I have seen you," she whispered, her eyelids heavy with desire for him. "I have _found_ what I want."

The scent of her arousal had built to an intoxicating level and he clawed up fistfuls of dirt to keep from grabbing her. Swallowing, he met her eyes. "Brytta," he said gruffly, "yer playin' with fire, woman."

Edging closer, she leaned against his body. "I did not want to admit it to myself," she whispered, "but when I saw you strut to the longhouse, I found you..." She turned her head, brushing his ear with her lips. "Beautiful."

The caress on his sensitive ear once more rendered him weak and at her mercy. He had no resistance left when she gently turned his face and kissed him long and deep. Her lips gliding over his, sometimes pressing firmly, she murmured against his mouth, "I do not fear your fire." Her light pull on his shoulders was all it took to draw him down to lie with her.

He tried not to clumsily cover her entire body, but balancing himself on his side put his knee between her legs. She didn't protest this arrangement. The overwhelming desire to _finish this_ made him grind his enflamed cock into her hip, and he groaned with unquenched need.

There was a pounding in his ears, his own heartbeat likely, and Nûrzgrat found himself sliding away from her lips, edging down her face, pushing his nose against her jawline, exposing her throat.

_No! Not the throat. In the back... the back... the shoulder... not the throat._

Yet he faltered, and drew away. "Brytta," he breathed against her shoulder.

"I trust you, Nûrzgrat," she said, and he raised his head to look at her.

"How can you?" he asked miserably.

"Kiss me," she whispered, drawing him down, "kiss me."

He sank into her once more, savoring her taste and scent. The throb in his cock had dulled for a moment in his fear, but seemed to renew with her acceptance. To secure enough space between them for her to breathe, he set his elbow down and leaned on it. He started when she took advantage of his repositioning to slide her hands up the back of his shirt.

"I have longed for this," she murmured against his mouth, her hands gliding over his bare hide.

While Nûrzgrat did not possess the massive quantity of lash marks that Morkoth had acquired for his stubborn resistance to their Master's will, he had a fair few. Mostly gotten for mouthing off to the Pitmaster, a right bastard who rubbed Nûrzgrat wrong the whole time he lived in Isengard. The Pitmaster had a heavy hand with the lash, and enough lackeys backing him up that Nûrzgrat rarely picked a fight with the Orc. So he'd had to take a good many whippings with no chance of vengeance.

Such scars were a matter of course in the barracks; the more you had, the greater your prestige, the less likely someone was to fuck with you because you looked like you could fuck them back and live to tell about it. The Pitmaster had to strike _hard_ to make an impression on a hard-headed, thick-skinned Uruk.

Brytta's hands smoothing over his supposedly thick hide sent sparks up and down his spine, seeming to inspire his hips to thrust against her for little relief. Groaning against her mouth, he clenched his fist and shivered.

He was like a coiled spring, trying so desperately not to give in to his urges yet breaking down enough to enflame Brytta's own desires. Grinning playfully, she trailed her fingertips along his lower ribs.

The effect was instant. He grunted sharply and jerked to the side, away from her hand. Emboldened and amused, she did the same on the other side. When he jumped aside and raised his head to glare at her hotly, she took advantage of his change in position to cradle his hips fully between her legs. His look of surprise was comical.

"There now," she said with satisfaction. "Much better."

Furrowing his brow and clearly wanting to remain angry, he growled, "That all you wanted? Coulda asked."

"Wherever is the fun in _that_?" she asked innocently, then grinned and slipped her hands from under his shirt to cover his backside. Giving him a provocative look, she kneaded his taut muscles. A low rumbling purr rolled out of him.

"Woman," he growled low, "gonna want these clothes off."

"I rather think that would be necessary, don't you?" she said mildly.

His brow bunched worriedly. "I take'em off... I'll want... I'll be all over yuh."

"That," she breathed, sliding her hands slowly inside his breeches, "is what I am counting on."

Eyes rolling back and mouth going slack, he groaned a long "_Fuuuuuck_," and buried his face between her breasts. Between the scent, the touching, and the position, he was _certain_ he was going mad. It was a strain not to mark her now, even knowing how it was supposed to be done. _When_ it was supposed to be done.

Perhaps because they were pressed so close, he remembered her breasts. He'd rarely had the... well, privilege, he supposed, of seeing unscarred whiteskin female breasts. Most of the time, others had had a go at them, and they were a shredded mess before it was his turn. He'd thought that was exciting, seeing the bloody tears and chunks bitten out.

Then he saw _Brytta's_ in the Orcs' pit. Pale and barely a handful each, smooth-skinned and still with the rosey peaks that were always the first bits chewed off... He'd wanted them _then_, when he had no rights to them. Now was different.

Her shirt was a lace-up affair, the laces reaching down to her belly. He didn't think he had the patience to undo the whole mess. He came into the world with a natural arsenal of claws and fangs; these he carefully employed to rend the lacing of her shirt.

Knowing what he was about filled Brytta with a delicious edge of fear. She knew he would not _intentionally_ bite her, but the possibility of it was nonetheless exciting. As the cords snapped one by one, she gripped his buttocks tightly and her breath quickened.

With one last jerk of his head, he tore the last lace apart and flung it to the side. His lips parted in a leer, he dove down and nosed her shirt open to expose her breasts.

He had to pause for a moment and collect himself. This was a treasure to be savored, and one only _he_ possessed. No others would come along to destroy them. He vowed to himself that he would fight to the death to keep them untouched by any other hand than his.

Yet he did not know where to begin sampling such a feast as Brytta's breasts.

Beginning with a simple taste, he drew his tongue over one breast, and reveled in her quivering response. Her grip on his ass tightened convulsively. Propping himself on one elbow, he carefully laid his dark hand atop the pale, soft mound. Furrowing his brow, he flicked his eyes to hers. She was watching him, trusting him, and her eyes were dark with desire even in the firelight.

Cupping her breast in his hand, he lowered his head and brushed his lips over the small peak. Even so light a touch arched her back, and he found himself unexpectedly blessed with a mouthful. A sighing moan escaped her.

It was automatic, and he had no idea what inspired it, but he found himself suckling at her breast as he'd seen Ashmau do to Sandy. He felt no compulsion to bite or tear, none whatsoever to draw blood, yet he nursed like an Orcling and savored every moment.

Unlike Sandy when Ashmau fed off her, Brytta writhed and moaned, even going so far as to remove a hand from his breeches to cradle his head and stroke his hair. The scent of her was so strong now, so alluring, so commanding, he didn't think he could stand _not_ being in direct contact with the source for much longer.

He knew exactly where to go. Reluctantly letting go of her breast, he moved down her belly, inching down to her breeches. _Yes_... _here it is... the pleasure mine... _all_ mine..._

This time, he didn't rip through her lacings; he untied them carefully, listening to Brytta's quickening breaths. She propped herself on her elbows and watched him, likely wondering what he was doing. He grinned to himself as he pulled her breeches off.

It was like a wave of heat and lust and fuck and need hitting him in the face. His cock's throb was almost a secondary concern; his attention was fully engaged by her... uh... hot pot. And it was _hot_. Maybe he'd smelled a bit of this sort of thing from Sandy and Brie when the boys got going with them, but he never got _this_ close to it. And it was never for him. _This_ was for _him_. He urged her legs apart.

"Nûrzgrat?" Brytta questioned nervously. While no blushing virgin, she had never met a man wanting to... Her mind exploded. With the first flick of his tongue, she knew she was lost. Every stroke elicited a wanton moan. She could feel every exploration, the probing and dipping of his tongue in and out of her sheath, and all the while his hands rubbing her hips, her belly, her thighs...

She was reduced to a quivering mess, her legs splayed apart with his head between. Had she still possessed any will to resist him, had she still harbored misgivings about coupling with him, those worries were quashed by his tongue's dance. She could feel it building within her, a peak like no other she'd experienced, and she fed it fiercely with rolling hips. Grabbing a fistful of his thick hair in one hand, she massaged her own breast with the other, and begged him shamelessly for release.

Nûrzgrat could feel as well as smell that she was going to come, and come hard, right in his face. The scent of her was like an explosion of stars in his mind; her moaning cries the most beautiful sound he'd ever heard. He wanted this badly; to feel the wave hit, to smell it at such close quarters, to _taste_ it.

Morkoth and Ghru were very close mouthed about the details of their intimacies, and honestly he'd never asked. No sense getting himself worked up without cause. But he knew Morkoth had done this to Sandy. Had done it _a lot_. Nûrzgrat had _smelled_ it on the boy. It was the kind of heady scent that made his cock hard enough to need relief almost immediately. He had a feeling that getting a faceful of Brytta's heat scent would do worse, but it was a chance worth taking if it gave her such pleasure as _this_. The woman was practically coming off the pallet!

Then it hit, and Nûrzgrat clamped his mouth over her opening, thrusting his tongue as deep as he could get it. Her entire body stiffened and relaxed in convulsive repetition, accompanied by a shuddering cry of release. He could feel the rippling of her inner muscles along his tongue and wondered at it, but not for long. The scent of her, as expected, nearly broke his cock.

What he _hadn't_ expected was the sense of relief _he_ felt. As he lapped at her sheath, savoring every last drop of the evidence that he pleased her so completely, basking in the still billowing scent of her heat, he realized he felt good. Very good. He pleased her. He gave her _shattering_ pleasure, judging by how limp she was, and how deep her gasping breaths were.

What was more, he'd pleased her with his mouth. His mouth that had done nothing but cause pain and kill for as long as he could remember, out of which spewed filth that offended nearly everyone he spoke to... had sent his mate to the mountaintop, as Sandy would put it. He didn't even care that his need was left unfulfilled. He was content with _this_. The rest could wait.

He was startled from his contented basking by her hands grasping at his hair.

"Nûrzgrat, please," she begged breathlessly. Unsure what she needed, he crawled up her body and rested carefully atop her, nuzzling and kissing her neck. Her hands fluttered weakly, tiredly over his scarred back. Tugging at his shirt. "I want to feel you," she breathed huskily next to his ear. "Your skin against mine. I want to _feel _you."

Nûrzgrat obliged her, peeling his shirt off and returning to her arms. "You all right, Brytta?" he asked. He would have expected a need for rest after what he just gave her, yet she still seemed agitated.

"I want to feel you," she repeated, and now her hands were pushing at the back of his breeches, pushing them _down_. "Inside me. Come inside, Nûrzgrat. Please come inside."

"That whatchou want?" he asked hoarsely.

"Please, Nûrzgrat," she whispered, and nipped his ear.

That pretty much settled it. Reaching between them, he fumbled his breeches untied and awkwardly shimmied out of them. His skills were markedly reduced in that area by the ear nibbling she was engaging in. Maybe he should have pulled away to manage it more gracefully, but it felt so good getting gnawed on he decided grace held no importance whatsoever now.

Yet when he was poised and ready to plunge his cock into her, the sharp discomfort of _being here_, of _doing this_ rammed into his head. How many had he hovered over like this, holding them down, knocking their flailing arms aside, kicking their legs apart, covering their mouths to stop the screaming? First one in had a rough, dry fuck on his hands, too. Painful and uncomfortable, that first one. You needed to be second or third on the female so your predecessor's seed could slick your way.

The memories were enough to make him vomit, because of course, being atop Brytta put her in the place of all those women he'd mercilessly raped. It had felt so good to her a minute ago. He hated to ruin it with hateful memories and a dry cock.

To his surprise, Brytta took matters into her own hands quite literally. Her hand snaked down between them and took hold of him with unabashed determination. He could almost give her the date when someone other than him last grabbed his cock. It was not remotely recent. Through his shock, he realized she was positioning him, rubbing him against her, seating him properly.

"For Eru's sake, _now_, Nûrzgrat!" she cried. He was shocked into obeisance.

And then he was sunk into a cloud. A very _wet_ cloud, and he realized how fucking stupid he was not to remember the fluids that came from her before. She was soaking wet and though her sheath was a snug fit, there was little friction in his entry.

Coherent thought, however, did not stay with him. His mind was reduced to processing sensations, and very few other impressions. He noted the deliriously pleased look on her face in receiving him; felt the hot grip on his cock; wondered at the movement of her hips in tandem with his own; basked in the renewal of her heat scent.

Above all, there was profound relief. He was up to the hilt in his mate, and she was _embracing him_. He'd fought hard against succumbing to his urges and won such sweet rewards as a result. He almost wished Fulak was seeing this; show that fucker a thing or two about proper mating.

As if to crush him with its threatening presence, the need to mark Brytta flared up anew and he faltered. It almost killed what pleasure he was feeling. He tried to tell himself it wasn't needed; there were no rivals to show his claim to. He didn't want to _want_ to do it, but he did. Acknowledging the want made the need stronger, and he slowly leaned down.

"Brytta," he gasped in her ear, "can't... help it..."

"I trust you," she whispered, and placed a gentle hand on the back of his head.

His awareness of what he was doing remained, and he closed his mouth on her shoulder where Morkoth told him it needed to be. This would hurt the least for a whiteskin, and do the least amount of damage. Yet he almost felt ashamed. It seemed a monstrous thing to do to someone with such a thin skin.

"Mark me, Nûrzgrat," Brytta urged gently, stroking the back of his head. "Make me yours completely."

Deciding to stop thinking because it just sucked the enjoyment out of _everything_, Nûrzgrat positioned his lower tusks and slowly pierced her flesh. He kept waiting for some sign of reproach, some indication that what he was doing was unacceptable, yet she only shivered slightly and... well, she grabbed his ass. She groaned deep and kneaded his muscles, thrusting her own hips harder to meet his. Holding on tight, he stepped up the vigor of their mating.

The taste of her blood, so sweet and given so readily, sent him clear over the edge. He'd wanted this to last, hoping he'd give her just as much pleasure with his cock as he had with his mouth, yet the overwhelming assault on his senses, so thirsty for her over the last week, ensured an unwelcome ending. Mating with Brytta felt _so_ incredibly good – he was _with_ her; they were connected in a way he could only _feel_ and never actually put into words; he wanted to give her everything he had – he could not prevent completion. He felt it coming like a galloping Warg, and pumped harder to meet it. When it hit, his roar echoed in the hollow and could likely be heard a mile away.

Slumping down over her, he gasped for breath. Even her gentle caress, smoothing his back and stroking his hair, did little to assuage the guilt he felt for not finishing her this way. When he finally found his voice, he said, "Forgive me. I wanted to... please you."

"Oh, Nûrzgrat," she said softly, kissing his brow, his eyelids, his cheeks, and finally his lips. "That was for you. I wanted _you_ to be pleased. And you were, so I am content."

"But...," he began, and she kissed his mouth again.

"Hush," she soothed, pulling him close. "Tomorrow, my love. Tomorrow you may please me any way you wish. Only allow me to please _you_ when _I_ wish it."

Sighing, he sank into her arms. "Gonna make a _snaga_ outta me," he grumbled without heat. But he smiled.


	26. Post-Game Commentary

**Post-Game Commentary**

"Tomorrow we will build a new shelter for them," Morkoth told Sandy as they prepared for sleep. He hadn't been gone more than a couple of hours, Ghru even less. Neither wanted to leave the settlement undefended, and of course neither could be parted from their mates or children for too long. Sitting on the bed, he eased his feet out of his boots, grateful for such freedom. He rarely wore them unless going a distance from the settlement; he didn't want to leave telltale signs that their settlement might house more than Men.

"I'm glad they're staying," Sandy replied. She stroked Ashmau's head where he'd curled up on their bed and fallen asleep waiting for his da to return. Soon he would need to be lifted into his own bed, a strangely fancy affair given by Galadriel, and wildly out of place in their rustic home. But just now, she was content to keep him close.

Glancing up, she noticed that Morkoth, always very thoughtful about things, seemed to be disquieted about something. He kept turning one boot over and over in his hands, and though he watched himself doing it, she wasn't sure he was seeing it.

"Talk to me," she murmured.

Morkoth sighed and half smiled. Even from behind, without looking at his face, his mate knew his thoughts. He let the boot fall from his grasp. "How could he do it?" he asked. "It did not make sense when you told me of your... boyfriend. I thought it would make sense seeing it myself, but... it _still_ does not."

"Well, it's like Thak said," Sandy replied. "You don't do those things. I'm really glad you don't. I guess I don't _want_ you to understand it. I've known people who can only 'understand' things by applying blame. She shouldn't have said that; she pushed him too far; she should've been wearing something else."

"None of that... is _true_," Morkoth said, frowning and looking at her. "There was no _reason_ for it. Master... abused us, yet he had a reason. We were undisciplined and he had a goal to achieve. What was Faelur's goal?"

"Control," Sandy shrugged. "Possession. Ownership. Power. Any number of things. But mostly control, I imagine. That's been _my_ experience."

He sighed heavily and nodded his head. "Such was our Master's goal as well." Yet his brow remained deeply furrowed. "How could he leave her? His own mate?"

Sandy chuckled. "Not everyone's Frû."

Morkoth slowly turned his head and stared at her. "This does not bother you?"

Leaning on her arm, she rested a hand on her small boy's back. "Where I come from, people get divorced all the time. It's not a big deal."

His frown deepened. "Could you... leave me as easily?"

She blinked with surprise. "No. Oh god, no. Morkoth, it's... no. It's completely different. You and I... I mean... _no_."

"It is _not_ different," he said quietly, looking away. "We are together _now_, and we have a child, just as they did. I did not know it was the Man's way to just... discard..."

"Morkoth, he's not... he didn't just _discard_ her," she said carefully. "I'm sure he'll regret _terribly_ what's happened here, but until he does, until he _gets_ where he went wrong... he might not see it. He's angry, sure, and likely bitching about _all_ of us right now, but... if there's any hope for him, he'll wake up one day and say, 'holy shit, what the fuck did I do?' And then... maybe he'll come back for her."

"You believe this?" the big Uruk asked, arching his brow.

Sighing, Sandy shook her head. "I highly doubt it. But... it isn't really... our _way_. It's just... one of those things that... _happens_, sometimes. Things don't work out, and... someone has to leave."

"I could not do it," he said quietly. "Were you to command me, I could not."

Sandy tilted her head curiously. "Are you serious? You'd... I don't know, go all 'Frû-obsessed' on me?"

"Men's ways are... different," Morkoth growled and turned away.

"Morkoth, I'm... I don't mean to insult you," she said carefully. "Just... tell me the truth, now. You... you're... _bonded_ to me?"

He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I am. I have been since... since you fell on me." He chuckled humorlessly. "I touched your hair. It was so... different. Then I tasted your blood. I thought nothing of it at the time, but..." He slowly looked at her. "I knew before night fell that day. I knew I was lost. I only lacked understanding of what it _meant._"

Sandy sagged with shock. "All this time?" she whispered.

He nodded slowly. "I could never leave you, Sandy. Even if... you grew to hate me."

"That's... kind of scary, Morkoth," she breathed. "Kind of... scary in a flattering sort of way."

He winced. Maybe her scent didn't match her words, but he'd long learned that Men were strange creatures. "Do you fear me, Sandy?"

"No," she said, and smiled a little. "It's just... a bit stronger a feeling than I guess I thought you had. I keep thinking about Frû and the whole Hengolwen business. It's a little... scary to imagine. Being stalked and hunted... Where I come from, that's a crime. There are things called 'restraining orders' to keep obsessed boyfriends and husbands from getting anywhere near the one they're obsessed with."

"Do these orders work?"

"That depends," she shrugged. "The one I filed against Alex worked, but my dad was a cop. He had a wealth of resources at his disposal to keep me safe, if he felt the need. Alex didn't want to challenge him on it. The fact that he carried a gun and made sure I did too also helped." She smiled a little. Sighing, she said, "What bothers me about it, Morkoth, is the loss of _choice_. Like... if things between us... didn't work out. What you're telling me is that you'd do the same thing Frû is doing, is that it? You'd run me down? You'd chase after me wherever I went?"

Morkoth stared at his hands for several silent minutes. Finally, his shoulders sagged. "Yes. I would. You are... everything to me, _ghaashkarn_. My heart beats because you smile. I draw breath because you touch me. It is not a wanting as much as a needing. If you left me... if I displeased you and you _left_... I would follow. I could not live without you. I suppose I did not want to face the fact that... _you_ can live without _me_."

"I think... we're just... different, Morkoth," she said quietly. "I love you; I swear to god, I do. I would _not_ be here if I didn't. I sure as hell wouldn't be..." She clammed up, pressing her lips together. Taking a deep breath, she said, "I don't want to leave you. Ever. You haven't done anything since we met to make me hate you." Shrugging uncomfortably, she added, "We'd be saying completely different things to one another if I met you _before_ everything changed for you, but... because they did, and you never once showed me what you were, I found that I could love you. And I still do."

"I will try never to make you hate me, Sandy," he said solemnly.

"Good plan," she smiled.

* * *

"What're you gonna do?" Raz whispered in the dark of the shelter he shared with Thakûf and Ilsa. The little girl had long since fallen deeply asleep, leaving the two boys perched in conference on Thakûf's bed.

"I dunno," Thakûf said, shaking his head. "Don't wanna be this far away. It's like... I'm worried, yuh know? Like... her da might come back and get'er. Or... somethin'll happen cause I'm not there."

"Weird," Raz said, narrowing his eyes. "You smell funny, too."

Surprised, Thakûf arched his brow, though his friend, closer than a brother, couldn't see his expression in the dark. "I do?"

"Yeah," Raz affirmed. "Sorta... funny. Maybe cause you growed up?"

Thakûf shrugged. "Maybe. I can't smell nothin'." Then he frowned. "Don't smell like wind, do I?"

Raz snorted a quiet laugh, mindful not to wake Ilsa. "Nah. Ain't as bad as all that." Tilting his head thoughtfully, he ventured, "Smell kinda like... Morkoth when he's got a hard-on."

Both boys snickered appreciatively. Then Thakûf sobered. "Think she can smell it?"

"Doubt it," Raz said dismissively. "Morkoth'll be stinkin' up the place, and Sandy don't notice. Just keep doin' what she's doin'. And he'll be watchin' her. Kind of... fuck, I dunno."

"Scary kinduh lookin'?" Thakûf asked warily.

"Well, _I_ ain't scared," Raz sniffed.

"No, dummy, like he might hurt her or somethin'," Thakûf snapped. After what happened over the last few days, he was a little nervous around the more powerful males. If one of _them_ should turn like Faelur did, he knew he'd be no match for them.

Razkaar shook his head. "Nah. Don't get that sortuh feelin' at all."

Thakûf nodded, reassured. "Maybe... he just wants to mate with her."

"Probably," Raz conceded. Then he peered hard in Thakûf's direction. "That what _you_ wanna do? With Gwen?"

Furrowing his brow, Thakûf debated revealing such a thing. He didn't know who else he could tell. He was embarrassed to say it to anyone, really. But he and Raz had known each other since they were pulled from the mud pits. They'd been through water and fire and death together. If he couldn't tell Raz, he couldn't tell anyone.

"Yeah," he finally confessed. "Real bad."

"You better not," Raz warned.

"I know!" Thakûf hissed. "Don't know what the fuck happened. I kissed her and... it just... I..."

"You _kissed_ her?" Raz cried out loud, making Ilsa whimper in her sleep. He lowered his voice. "You didn't say nothin' 'bout that!"

"Didn't wanna make a big fuckin' thing about it," Thakûf whispered emphatically. "Don't say _nothin'_. Sandy'll _kill_ me. _Brie'll_ kill me. Everybody'll fuckin' kill me," he finished miserably. "I 'spose her ma's all right about it, but..." He shrugged lamely.

"Well... what'd she say? You know, when you did it?" Raz asked, awkward and unsure and damned curious.

"She said... I made her feel better," Thakûf said wistfully.

"Huh," Raz said with surprise. "And her ma don't mind?"

Thakûf shrugged. "She came flyin' into the shelter thinkin'... probably thinkin' I was doin' rape on her or something. Kissin' ain't so bad after that."

"Oh," Raz said, eyes widening. "Her ma thought you were... ? That why she wanted to see Gwen so bad? Cause she thought...?"

Nodding, Thakûf rubbed his forehead. "Yeah. Wasn't far off. Whole time she was in our shelter... kept rememberin' everything I ever saw Morkoth and Sandy doin', everything Brie and Ghru did... only... with me and Gwen. Thought I'd fuckin' jerk off right there on the floor in front of her."

Raz snorted. "I remember when you used to do it like that all the time. Didn't care _who_ was watchin'."

"Shut the fuck up," Thakûf growled with embarrassment. "I don't do it no more, so shut it."

Sighing, Raz said, "_Still_ don't feel nothin' like that. Havin' too much fun with Ilsa, I suppose. Don't even think she's a girl half the time."

"She's a baby," Thakûf shrugged. "Wait'll she gets tits."

Raz had to suppress the explosive laugh. "That ain't funny!" he hissed through his snickering.

Thakûf grinned. "Don't know who else you're gonna go for, 'less you wanna wait on Hontor."

"Fuck, I don't wanna mate with _Ilsa_," Raz choked, still laughing at the idea of the little girl with tits like Sandy's, toppling over from the weight of them.

"Not now, sure," Thakûf conceded. "But she grows up and gets some nice tits on'er and I'm thinkin'..."

"Shut _up_," Raz growled. "It ain't funny no more." It was clear the humor had been exhausted from the subject as far as Razkaar was concerned.

"Just havin' some fun," Thakûf said apologetically. He hadn't expected his friend to get quite so upset, quite so suddenly. "Don't mean nothin' by it."

"You ain't...," Raz sputtered furiously, "You shut your fuckin' mouth. That's... that's Ilsa. You don't say nothin' 'bout Ilsa."

"I ain't," Thakûf protested. "Just..."

"Shut _up_," Raz snapped.

"What's your fuckin' problem, eh?" Thakûf growled angrily.

"Don't you... don't even talk about... you'll be like what _they_ were and... You stay the fuck away from Ilsa!" Raz snarled, his voice pitched high in angry fear.

"Raz, I... I ain't gonna do nothin' to Ilsa," Thakûf said as calmly as he could. He knew exactly what Raz was talking about and it made him sick to his stomach just thinking about it. Wanting to mate with Gwen was... well, it was a bit embarrassing, but at least she seemed to like him and she was his age... more or less. Doing _anything_ to Ilsa just... He shuddered with revulsion. "I don't even... She's just a baby, Raz. Brie said she's gonna be too young for anything like... like matin' for, I dunno, ten years or somethin'."

"Yeah, well, you keep your fuckin' hands to yourself," Raz growled. "Jerk yourself or somethin'. Whatever. Just... don't you go near her."

"Raz, I don't _want_ her," Thakûf said firmly. "I ain't... ain't _ever_ gonna want her. Cause... I want _Gwen_." His brow furrowed as it sunk in. The strange pull he was feeling, the urges when she was near, the thoughts that ran through his mind, not all of them of a mating nature... "Don't think I'll ever want no one _else_ but Gwen."

"You... you sure?" Raz asked uncertainly.

"Yeah," Thakûf said, feeling inexplicably afraid of the surety of his feelings.

* * *

"Are you well?" Mae asked. A white candle burned on a small table in the longhouse, barely illuminating the corner where Mae and Gwen were sharing the largest bed. After the traumatic events of the day, she wanted her daughter close.

They were lying on the bed facing one another. Mae could barely see her daughter's bruised face in the flickering light, but she could see well enough to feel strengthened in her resolve to send her husband away.

"Yes, mama," Gwen replied quietly.

"It is... all right if you miss him," Mae ventured. "I know I shall."

Gwen frowned. "How _can_ you? After he..."

"I do not miss the man he was today, or yesterday," Mae clarified. "But the man he once was. Or... what I thought he was, I suppose. He was always good to you. Remember _that_. Treasure _those_ memories. Do not linger on his ugliness."

"He made me feel... dirty," Gwen said in a small voice. "He said such terrible things."

"Yes," Mae agreed. "To me, as well. I believe he told himself lies, and came to believe them."

"Why would he _think_ such things?" Gwen asked incredulously. "And say such things to _you_...?"

"I do not know," Mae said sadly. "I assure you, I gave him no more reason to suspect me of... such indiscretions than you did. As I said, he believed his own lies. Perhaps he told them to justify what he did."

"I suppose," Gwen allowed. "Mama... do you think... what I feel is... wrong? About Thakûf?"

Mae was quiet for several moments before answering. "I believe you have experienced a very trying time. I would feel _better_ if you... stepped back a touch. Thakûf was there when you needed comfort. I do not begrudge you that, nor do I condemn him for... taking such liberties." Mae smiled in spite of her words. "In truth, he was so flustered and fearful of my wrath – _mine_ – that I cannot be angry with him. I assure you, had Serondaen laid so much as a finger upon you..." She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "He was a man who would not have stopped at kissing, and I am afraid he would have blamed _you_ for anything that followed."

Gwen's mouth formed a perfect 'o' of horror. "He... would blame _me_?"

"He was the sort," Mae nodded. "I did not like him, but Faelur was so... adamant. Then he had the contract signed before I could make my worries known." She shrugged. "It matters little now. He is likely gone from this world." _And good riddance, Eru forgive me,_ Mae thought.

Putting thoughts of long-dead Serondaen out of her mind, Gwen frowned at her mother. "Do you think I've done wrong, then? With Thakûf?"

Mae shook her head and smiled. "Not at all. I simply want you to think about your feelings for him. It was not so long ago that you showed every indication of despising him. I would rather you go to him with a clear head, than with rash thoughts clouding your judgment."

"I enjoyed kissing him, mama," Gwen said timidly with no little embarrassment. Regardless of her mother's profession, she'd never truly accepted the fact that her mother might know something about relations with men. Yet she needed to tell _someone_, and it was far too late in the night to waken Sandy. "I felt... very good. Sort of... tingly all over. I want very badly to... to kiss him again," she whispered urgently. "He is so sweet, mama. I never gave him any credit, and yet he is good and strong. And he is funny," she smiled fondly. "We talked ever so long. I did not want to leave. They were _all_ kind to me; Razkaar and Ilsa as well."

Smiling, Mae smoothed Gwen's hair from her forehead. "I am glad he cares for you. And that you get along well with the others. We will make a good home here, I think."

"I wish... there was someone for you," Gwen said sadly. "You should have a good man."

Mae smiled and sighed. "I have quite had my fill of worrying after a man's pride and waiting upon his needs. There may be some things I miss of having a companion, but they are not as important as being content with myself."

"Are you?"

"Yes," Mae said with a warm smile. "Quite content."

* * *

Lying in Ghru's arms in their bed, Brianna held Hontor to her breast and caressed the infant's downy-soft head. Mae's ministrations had strengthened her enough to begin nursing, and Brie was even happy to be woken in the middle of the night to attend the baby.

Ghru's large hand pressed Hontor's back protectively even here, in their own shelter. He nuzzled Brie behind the ear and licked her earlobe.

"Tease," she whispered, smiling. He retreated and rested his head against the wall. "I didn't say _stop_," Brie said with a light laugh.

"I long to make love with you," Ghru said quietly, his gravelly voice too harsh for anyone but Brie to hear anything but a threat in it. But she knew him, and his words made her insides ripple with desire.

"You won't have to wait much longer," she assured him. "Mae told me I'm nearly healed. We can..."

"No," Ghru said tightly. "Not again."

Brie frowned and looked at him. "Why would you say that?"

Ghru stared at the ceiling for several minutes, his jaw grinding. Brie had long learned patience when a troubling worry silenced him. Eventually, he always gave in and told her. Now was no different. "Don't want to do it to you again. Near killed you. Would've been my fault."

"My love," Brie said gently, "there is no 'fault' here. Just look at what we made together." They both gazed warmly at Hontor, whose small brown fist rested on Brianna's breast as she suckled contentedly. "We have Mae here now. Do you know what she told me?" Ghru shook his head. "She said that my next won't be as difficult."

His brow furrowed. "Next?"

"She thinks I'll be _fine_, Ghru," Brie assured him. Then she nudged him playfully in the ribs. "So no holding out on me, all right?"

He chuckled, a half smile on his face. "I will still worry."

"So will I, but not about that." She sighed and leaned her head against his shoulder. "I miss making love with you, Ghru. Sometimes, lying here next to you, it's all I can think about."

Closing his eyes, he breathed in her scent. He could have told her he knew when she was consumed with thoughts of him, for the scent of her arousal set off his own desires for her. But he kept quiet. It was something he suspected she knew about him, his heightened sense of smell, but not something he wanted to specifically tell her of. It was better to let her think he simply _knew_ when she wanted him, what she wanted him to do, and how she wanted him to do it.

"It is what I think about as well," he murmured.

"Then as soon as I'm healed and Mae tells me it's safe," Brie said with a grin, "_you're mine_."

"As I will always be," Ghru whispered, kissing her lips.


	27. Coming to Terms and Heading Home

**Coming to Terms and Heading Home**

_Having a place to go - is a home. Having someone to love - is a family. Having both - is a blessing.  
~Donna Hedges_

In the golden light of early morning, Brytta lay beside Nûrzgrat and gazed upon his body at rest. Lying flat on his back, he'd flung one arm over his eyes to keep the sunlight out, and his other hand lay upon his belly. She made no sound or movement that might disturb him, for in this breathless moment between sleeping and waking, she wanted to simply enjoy the sight of him.

Such repose afforded her the opportunity to note the many scars upon his chest, most of which likely came from battle against her folk. The newness of her love for him shied away from how he came by them, while the warrior in her heart wanted the full details. _She_ wanted to stand beside him in remembrance of such glories, perhaps with a mug of ale in one hand, her other clapping his arm in admiration. Perhaps it was a part she played in a ruse left far behind, but it was _enjoyed_. There was freedom within that constraint, and not just of words, which often tended toward the improper. In the world of Men, being their _equal_ meant all doors were open.

Being with Nûrzgrat promised no limits imposed by the often arbitrary judgments of Men that slammed doors in the faces of their women. She could hunt and do battle at his side, see the world _with_ him, not wait for his tales to be delivered when the adventure was over. If he even returned from them.

Yet because of what Nûrzgrat was, there would be few such adventures. It was very likely their journey of the last week would be the end of such things. Though the Shadow of the Dark Lord had been whisked away like smoke before a breeze, a different Shadow had descended upon the world. Brytta had now seen _both_ sides of things, and her eyes were opened at long last.

Was the blind hatred directed against Nûrzgrat's folk, _Barash's_ folk, any less reprehensible than that which drove _them_ before the Shadow was defeated? Was the claim of righteousness in the cause of such wanton destruction a true and rightful claim, or was it little more than vengeance that made Men hunt down even those who made no war, burned no village, assaulted no citizen? Were Men so much better than those they slew, when they tracked their victims back to the holes to which they fled, and slaughtered them to the last unweaned babe? In the end, had Men _become_ what they strove against not so long ago?

Brytta looked upon Nûrzgrat now and felt shame that she had ever raised sword after the War's end. He was so much more than what she'd been told, what she'd seen without seeing, what she'd thought she hated. Even the scars upon his body must tell an intriguing tale she would never learn if she had continued on the path she once walked.

Frowning, she raised her head and looked more closely at the center of his chest. Now that the sun's rising shed more light in the hollow, she could better see the clenched fist wrought upon his dark breastbone. Crude in execution, but clearly outlined. On either side of the image, barely discernable amidst a confusion of battle scars, were crudely drawn numbers, deeply gouged into his flesh by hand: 2993 to one side, and 9/3, 6, and 1/3 descending separately on the other. More markings appeared to have been deliberately cut, not branded as the fist was. Upon his left breast were carved four stripes, each roughly a half inch apart. His right breast bore two large 'V' marks, yet another mystery.

She could not begin to guess what the numbers meant. The longer she looked at _those_ marks, likely made by or on behalf of the wizard, the more degrading they seemed. They told her the Uruk-hai were little more than cattle to be branded by their owner, their bodies marked in painful ways to satisfy the record-keeping of their breeder. The numbers spoke to her of Nûrzgrat's slavery, of his reduction to a piece of meat made for one purpose only. Were they some reference to his role in the wizard's army, or perhaps his parentage? Did one set of numbers align in some dusty book to the Orc who sired him, another to the woman who bore him? For some reason, the coldness of it made her ill to even speculate.

But she would ask him. Perhaps he knew. He'd lived for... she realized she did not know how old he was.

Her fingers fairly itched to trace that fist, as though doing so would reveal all its secrets. Reaching out, she brushed her fingers lightly over the scar, feeling the marred, uneven flesh. His skin quivered, and his hand rose from his belly to absently swat at the annoyance and scratch where she touched. Brytta smiled fondly at him.

Gradually, Nûrzgrat drifted awake to the sensation of being gently caressed. He didn't want to open his eyes for fear it would end. A slight smile curved one side of his mouth. Was there any better feeling than this? He wasn't sure. If there was, he hadn't felt it yet.

"I know you are awake, Nûrzgrat," Brytta chided softly, but her hand did not still. Sighing, he slid his arm off his face and tucked it beneath his head. Her attention seemed fixated on his scars, the brand in particular. Her expression was of grim fascination as she explored that one area.

"It's meant to be my name," he said quietly. Then he shrugged a little. "Or something to do with it, anyway."

"What does your name mean?" she asked, glancing at his face for a moment.

Grimacing at the irony, he growled, "Angry leader." He chuckled a bit. "I was, uh... a bit of a bastard when I was born."

"Truly?" she asked, arching her brow in gently mocking disbelief.

He rolled his eyes. "Uh... kind of a... bastard every day I lived in Isengard, actually."

"You have many scars," she commented, smoothing her hand over several of them. "Not all given by my folk?"

"No," he replied. "First ones I ever got were in the barracks. Yuh learned real quick that you wanted to be on top... in all ways... so you fought. Lot of us got our first bit of trainin' tryin' not to be on the bottom." He grunted a slightly embarrassed laugh.

"And you were on top?"

"A good bit of the time, aye," he nodded. Wanting to leave _those_ memories behind, he pointed at the four stripes. "I, uh, got made a _pizdur_ – a captain – eventually. Led a load of troops... five companies of a hundred each for a bit. Some were good lads." _All dead now_, he thought grimly. _All except..._

"Were any of the ones in the settlement under your command?" Brytta asked, as if reading his thoughts.

Nûrzgrat nodded. "Aye. Ghru was, for a bit early on. Later, Morkoth came along. Good stout lad in a fight. Always had a clear head, no matter what was goin' on."

"I do not believe I met Ghru," she said, furrowing her brow as she tried to remember. It seemed so long ago that she entered the settlement expecting battle, only to be shown a side of Orcs she never imagined.

"Yuh didn't," Nûrzgrat confirmed. "Never left his mate's side. He was... a good lad to have at your back. You get Ghru on your side, he don't ever leave it. Missed havin' him around."

"Was he put in another company?" Brytta asked. Her fingers strayed to the 'V' marks curiously.

As if in response to her attention to those scars in particular, Nûrzgrat sat up and crossed his legs so he could rest his elbows on them. Brytta drew back and looked at him curiously. His back hunched as he leaned over. He stared at the ground. "_Shark__û_... punished him. Made'im stay behind in the pits. Made'im serve."

"Serve? What do you mean?"

"He, uh... he got burned," the Uruk said quietly, grimacing. "Real bad. Early on, couple years out. Ruined his hide. Not as tough as ours no more. Felt kinda... kinda like _yours_. A bit. Close enough."

Brytta winced and looked away. "Are you saying... he was sought... for the softness of his skin?"

"Aye," Nûrzgrat nodded uncomfortably. "That's what I'm sayin'. Not at first. He can feel pain... a lot more'n the rest of us. That was what they done to him first, the torturin'. Didn't take much, really. They went after him a lot. Just to hear'im... hollerin'. See'im flinchin'... All that."

The awkwardness of Nûrzgrat's manner made Brytta frown. "Did you take part in this sport?" she asked pointedly. He shot her an angry look.

"_No_," he snapped. "I was his fuckin' _commander_. Tried to _help_'im, when I knew about it. Didn't do no good, but I tried." Wincing, he shook his head. "Don't remember who first got the idea, thinkin' it'd be fun to fuck'im. Somebody did, then _that_ shit started." He shrugged. "Least they weren't... tormentin' him in other ways, I suppose."

"Oh," Brytta gasped, horrified. "They _raped_ him."

"Aye," Nûrzgrat nodded. He couldn't look her in the eyes, so afraid he'd see accusation there. As if he'd had the power to do _anything_ to stop what went on in Isengard. As if he'd even imagined back then that he _wanted_ to. "He's had a rough time of it. Maybe... worse than the rest of us." A slight smile softened his pained expression. "Funny... he got a mate who'd been done like that too. They're good for each other. Understand each other." He nodded, his lips pressed firmly together. "I'd see them together... how he was so _different_ with her. Cause she understood him."

Voice shaking, he went on, "She... didn't mind so much... what he'd been through. Didn't... hate him... for what he done. Loved him anyway." He slowly turned to Brytta, finally looking at her. She was so heart achingly beautiful, and so near... so much _his_... Raw emotions made his voice hitch unsteadily. "Didn't think I'd... ever find... my own... cause of... all the shit... _I_ done."

"You found me," Brytta said gently, caressing his cheek. He closed his eyes and pressed into her palm gratefully. A single tear slipped unnoticed down his face. "And I do love you. No matter what you've done... for I have done the same. If you can forgive me, then surely I can forgive you."

He took her hand in his and kissed her palm. "I do. Our masters – mine _and_ yours – made us do... terrible things. But that's over now."

"Yes," Brytta whispered. "It is all over now."

* * *

They broke camp before the sun had risen too high and resumed their journey home. It was not until they took a rest in the afternoon that Brytta asked him about the numbers upon his chest.

"I do not want to open old wounds," she said cautiously, "but I am curious."

"Hmph," he grunted. "When're you not?" Nûrzgrat dug his bare toes in the earth and sighed with pleasure.

"The numbers carved upon your chest," she said. "What do they mean?"

Shrugging, he obligingly untied his tunic laces and spread the shirt open. Pointing at the 2993, he said, "Born in this year, so the Pitmaster said. Don't know how he reckoned that, so I suppose it was _Shark__û__'s_ orders. This here's the hole I got pulled from; pit nine, hole three. Pitmaster said the six was my dam's number. They got marked on their arms with their number so _Shark__û_ could keep'em straight. And this one's..."

Nûrzgrat faltered. He had to take a steadying breath. "My... my sire. Tunnel one, cell three. Had metal plates hung over the holes too, with the same thing on'em. Dam and sire. This woulda been on mine. Others... woulda had a longer one for the sire... cause... he numbered us." Grimacing, he jerked the ties closed and turned away.

"Nûrzgrat?" Brytta ventured cautiously.

"Ain't nothin' important," he growled.

She put a sympathetic hand on his shoulder. He had to fight the urge to jerk out from under it.

"Did you... did you know him?" she whispered.

Nûrzgrat shook his head. It took another minute for him to speak. "Don't know... a fuckin' thing about'im. Except that he was from... from some mountain clan somewhere. And he was... he was kept in a fuckin' _cage_."

"I am sorry," she said quietly. "Did... _none_ of you know...?"

"No," he snapped, and now he did bolt away from her. Standing, he took a shuddering breath. "Didn't know who our sires were. Didn't know who birthed us. Didn't know _fuck_ about where we came from. _Shark__û_ didn't think it was _important_ for us to know shit like that." Baring his teeth, he snarled fiercely, "I knew _snaga_ who could name their father's father's fucking _father's_ father back ten generations. I knew _snaga_ who had _sisters_. They had _mums_. They knew who bore them. They had... clans and families and... stories... _homes._"

Shaking with long-suppressed anger, Nûrzgrat took off walking. Another minute and he'd lose it, he knew. Many of his fellows sneered at the _snaga_ Orcs and made sport of their customs and traditions. Nûrzgrat never ridiculed them. He _envied_ them. And he still did.

What little he'd gotten out of the Pitmaster about his sire cost Nûrzgrat a hefty amount in plundered goods and humiliations. He'd had to bend over for the _pushdug_, an indignity he never told anyone about. Yet if he thought it would have made a difference, Nûrzgrat would've sucked the Pitmaster's cock for more. Anything it took. In the end, it didn't matter. The Pitmaster swore he remembered nothing else. Everyone who'd been in Isengard long enough to know who 1/3 was had long ago died in the flood. And now even _Shark__û_ was gone from the world.

So consumed was he with acknowledgement of his old grief, Nûrzgrat was startled by Brytta's hand slipping into his. He winced, fearing she'd want him to talk about it the way Brianna and Sandy were always doing every time he got pissed about something.

She didn't. Brytta held his hand and walked silently at his side. After a time, he calmed. His thoughts became less black. While the remorse for his unknown sire, his non-existent _past,_ remained, other thoughts came to him like nervous animals unsure of the predator seething before them.

The little ones, Ashmau and Hontor, knew both a mother and a father. Perhaps they would mate and _their_ young would know both parents and _grandparents_. Though the past was lost to the Uruk-hai, perhaps the future was _not_. Glancing down at Brytta, he wondered...

"Brytta," he growled thickly, and she looked up. She searched his face, gauging his mood. He slowed to a halt and fixed his eyes on the ground. "Uh... don't know how to ask this."

She smiled. "You may ask me anything, Nûrzgrat."

He swallowed hard and took a deep breath. "Would you... be willin'... I mean, it wouldn't... offend yuh if..."

"Nûrzgrat," she said soft and stern. "Just say it."

Furrowing his brow, he growled, "I... want... whelps of my own. _Our_ own. Yours and mine." Wincing and looking away, he muttered, "I'll understand if yuh don't want that."

Brytta sighed and cupped his cheek, gently turning him to look at her. "I confess I never wanted children, Nûrzgrat. But that was before. Now, I very much do."

"Even if it's... somethin' that looks like me?"

"_Especially_ if it looks like you," she said wryly. "Unless we have a girl. Then I hope she will look like that little one in your settlement. She was quite pretty."

"Ilsa," Nûrzgrat chuckled with relief. "Aye. Girl oughta be pretty as her mum. Not lookin' like her ugly old bastard da."

Shaking her head, she smiled broadly. "I hope our son looks _just_ like his ugly old bastard da. Then he shall be a handsome boy indeed."

* * *

Talk of home and the young they would make together urged Nûrzgrat to a quicker pace. He wanted the safety and comforts of the settlement, the familiar walls of the longhouse, his clan about him... Most of all, he wanted to see Brytta in his bed, waiting for him... or drowsy from mating, preferably. Having once been the impatient leader, anxious for the whelps to come to his fellows and reassure him that their people were _not_ destroyed, he now found himself impatient _again_, for now the whelp he awaited would be _his_.

He did not know if his legacy was a good one or not, but he wanted his whelp to carry it. Perhaps a strong male, fierce and brave. Or a courageous female he could be proud of. Young ones who would never know the bite of a lash or the yoke of slavery, who were untouched by the dark magics of a cruel master.

Children that would grow to mate and bear young of their own, free of the Shadow.

How he wanted so badly to meet them, _all_ of them.

As night fell, they searched for another secluded, well-hidden place to make camp. Once more, cautious thoughts were overridden as they embraced in the darkness. The only allowance to discretion Nûrzgrat made was to suppress his roar of completion. It was a mighty strain, for he had held his desires in check for many years.

The pleasure he gave was as great as what he received, something he never would have thought possible. While he was aware of the frequency with which his clanmates mated, he hadn't expected to be wanted so much himself. Brytta's scent and body language held him in thrall, breathless with anticipation yet waiting upon her words for confirmation and invitation that she seemed to always give.

Brytta was surprised by how much she enjoyed coupling with Nûrzgrat. It pleased her to know that, because he was bred to crave mating, she need never persuade him. Whenever she was aroused to any degree, however slight, he would know it, and make himself available to her. She had no doubt he would restrain himself until she beckoned, for he had _also_ proved himself respectful. He seemed to know that scent was not always enough.

She found she was at least as eager to return to the settlement as he was. Her profession had kept her traveling a good bit of the time. It had been a long while since she'd called anywhere 'home,' yet she had come to think of the settlement as her home in almost the same breath as realizing she loved Nûrzgrat. Perhaps because it was _his_ home... or because it was likely the only place in all of Middle Earth where she could indulge an affectionate embrace with her lover, or indeed walk beside him beneath the sun, without incurring the wrath of her people and endangering Nûrzgrat's life. It was a place overflowing with life and love, and she wanted to be a part of it.

Gazing at Nûrzgrat, she could just see his yellow eyes glittering in the dimness cast by the gibbous moon. Edging closer, she rested her head upon his shoulder and caressed his chest. Her fingers found the 'V' marks and lingered there, ever curious. She heard him swallow, and waited.

"That's... a reminder," he said in a low, tight voice. His hand came up to cover hers, gripping her fingers, keeping them from exploring further. "Pitmaster... marked me so... I'd be known."

"For what?" she whispered, gently stroking his chest with her thumb.

"For... killin' that female," he growled. "Everyone knew. Only had to see that mark and they knew."

"I imagine... such marks... were commonplace," she said awkwardly. Nûrzgrat shook his head.

"No. Not... common. Cause... you kill'em, and... there ain't no more breedin'," he said shakily. "That's to start with. Then, uh... yuh don't get to come back, so... no more... no more'uh that."

Brytta frowned. "But... what do the letters _mean_?"

He looked startled. "Ain't letters. They're _fangs_. _My_ fangs. My _teeth_. Tellin' me and anyone who looked to... to fear my fuckin' mouth." Sighing, he shook his head. "Yuh fuck up, _Shark__û_ made sure yuh told everyone about it, one way or another."

Reminded of the reason for such marks, Brytta now remembered something she'd wanted to ask him about.

"Nûrzgrat," she said hesitantly.

"Mmm?"

"You... didn't see her last night, did you?" she asked, raising her head so she could look him in the eyes. She saw him frown thoughtfully.

After a few moments, he shook his head. "No. Suppose I didn't."

"Do you not think that... strange?" she whispered.

"Aye," he said. "Real strange."

"Perhaps... she has forgiven you," Brytta suggested. She held his gaze for a long moment, and he slowly nodded.

"Maybe," he replied, then smiled a little. "Maybe you scared her off."

Brytta shook her head. "I think _you_ did," she said, and gently caressed his lips. "Because you did _not_ kill. Neither did you give me cause to fear your mouth."

His lips parted and his breathing deepened. He lightly kissed her fingers. "What about... the rest?" he murmured.

"You needed only prove one fear false," she whispered. "I do not think the other worry could live in your heart without the first."

"Good," he nodded. "Maybe I'll sleep now, eh?"

Brytta grinned and climbed astride Nûrzgrat's body. "Not tonight, you won't."


	28. In the Bosom of Their Clan

**In the Bosom of Their Clan**

No opportunity for intimacy was wasted as Brytta and Nûrzgrat made their way to the settlement. Though Nûrzgrat could smell his musk on Brytta – in her hair, on her clothing, on her skin – it did not give him the sort of boastful arrogance it might have years ago. There was very little of the conquest in the recognition of his scent on her; it was more connection and union, an acceptance that even the mark he made on her shoulder did not fully speak of. When she wasn't nearby, he could smell _her_ on _him. _Now _that_ filled him with pride, being so desired that his mate could scarcely keep her hands off him.

It was a wholly unfamiliar experience, but one in which he revelled. He reckoned even apart, a keen nose would mistake their separation and assume they were together, so much had their scents mingled in blissful embrace over the last few days.

At long last, he began to see familiar signs; clusters of trees in which he'd hunkered down while stalking prey, game trails he'd followed to streams that attracted the finest deer, a wild bramble bearing the fruit Sandy craved while carrying Ashmau... He stopped and plucked a berry, amused at the memory of how much hell she put Morkoth through because it took him four or five tries to find _just the right bush_. Grinning, he popped the fruit in his mouth, then grimaced and spat it out.

"Poison?" Brytta asked, tilting her head and smiling. "They seem to be blackberries, by the leaf. Are they not to your liking?"

Grunting, he resumed walking up the trail. "Don't like sweet shit much, I guess."

"Or it was not yet ripe," she suggested mildly. "Red is much too early. Wait until summer, and we shall come back. You just might like them better then."

He barely heard her. All around him were the landmarks that told him he was almost home, it was just around the corner, he could almost _smell_ it from here. A few more yards and he halted, listening. A slow smile softened his face.

"What is it?" Brytta asked at his side.

"Can yuh hear it?" he breathed. "Brianna's playin'."

"I hear birds," she said, straining her ears. She shook her head. "Perhaps we are not yet close enough for _my_ ears to hear."

"Aye," he nodded, his smile turning to a grin. "Closer, then."

They walked for another ten minutes, then both halted and listened. Brytta furrowed her brow curiously. "Is that a lute?"

Nûrzgrat nodded. A lump formed in his throat, listening to the music played so unconcernedly and so close. "Must be doin' all right," he said softly, not wanting to fracture the delicate sounds with his harsh voice. "Ain't heard her play in some while. Too big with Hontor, too tired, too sore..." Then he chuckled. "Listen to that. Sandy's drummin'. Can hear Raz, too. Always does what she does. Shoulda heard'im tryin' the harmonica. Sounded like a sheep gettin' butchered, but she kept helpin' him and now he ain't so bad."

Looking up at Nûrzgrat's shimmering eyes, Brytta slipped her hand into his. "Almost home, then?"

"Aye," he growled, roughly rubbing his face. "Almost."

He listened for several minutes, eventually picking up the words of the song. He recognized Sandy's voice, deeper and richer than Brianna's.

_...But between the drinks and subtle things  
The holes in my apologies, you know  
I'm trying hard to take it back..._

The smile slipped from his face as the thing he'd tried to hide from came back now. He swallowed hard and his voice quavered. "Gotta tell'em about Frû... and fuck this up. Whatever's got them so... happy, playin' music... I'm gonna fuck it up."

Brytta squeezed his hand reassuringly. "I can tell them," she offered gently, "if you cannot."

He shook his head. "No. It's gotta be me. I'm the one that fuckin' murdered him."

"You didn't," she said firmly. "It was not murder; it was _mercy_."

"Don't matter what word yuh use," he growled, "he's dead all the same."

"I know," she said sadly.

"It's gotta be me," he repeated, straightening and walking toward the settlement. Brytta fell into step beside him.

"I am with you, Nûrzgrat," she said. "As I will always be. You have lent me your strength; I will lend you mine."

He glanced down at her and smiled humorlessly but gratefully. "I'll take it."

As they neared, the last lines of the song drifted to their ears, and Nûrzgrat grimaced.

_So if by the time the bar closes  
And you feel like falling down  
I'll carry you home  
Tonight_

Just when Thakûf and Raz's shelter became discernible amongst the sheltering trees, the tall, broad figure of Morkoth stepped from cover and blocked their advance. He held a broadsword in his hand, but didn't raise it. Nûrzgrat met his second's gaze and waited.

Morkoth's eyes flicked over Nûrzgrat and his nostrils quivered as he scented the leader. A small crease formed in his brow. He darted a curious look at Brytta. Then his eyes went past them, and he frowned. He met Nûrzgrat's eyes and after a few moments, he nodded shortly. He gripped his leader's shoulder.

"Welcome home," he said simply.

Not trusting himself to speak, Nûrzgrat lightly punched Morkoth's upper arm, then stepped around him. Morkoth let them both pass him and followed. The scents wafting in their wake caused a confusion of thoughts, some of which put a grin on the huge Uruk's face. But he kept his silence. There were other worries here. And likely very bad news.

Nûrzgrat's eyes found each member of his clan as he entered the common area surrounded by the shelters. He briefly, and curiously, noted the framing going up on a fifth building. Off by the longhouse, Razkaar and Ilsa were hunched over something together, tossing a handful of small objects. Whatever it was they were doing, Ilsa seemed to delight in it. Nûrzgrat was surprised to see Thakûf sitting close to Gwen on a log by the fire, his hands animated as he related some tale she was avidly listening to. Sandy sat with her Elf-made drum cradled in her lap, her son seated opposite her and raptly attentive to every thump of her hands on the skin. Razkaar's drum was in front of Ashmau, but he only rested his tiny hands on it. Evidently Raz tired of drumming and returned to his playmate. Brianna sat on the ground with her lute, leaning back against another log, while Ghru sat beside her holding their whelp. The midwife, Mae, was stirring something in a great pot over the fire.

Sandy was the first to notice Nûrzgrat's arrival, for Morkoth had likely left her side to meet him. Before he could get a word out, she leaped to her feet and rushed at him.

"You're back!" Sandy cried, throwing her arms around his neck and nearly throttling him. "Oh my god, you're back!"

"Nûrzgrat?" Brianna said in disbelief. She hastily shoved the lute aside and scrambled up. Before he knew it, he had _both_ women nearly knocking him on his ass. He had an arm around each one's waist, his air nearly cut off by their tight holds, but for that moment he didn't care. He closed his eyes and smiled, still trying to swallow the lump in his throat.

Looking past Brianna and Sandy, he met Brytta's eyes. She was grinning broadly, the longhouse behind her. The bed he'd long missed flashed into his mind, along with the desire to lay her down in it and... Thakûf suddenly stepped directly in front of him.

Nûrzgrat eyed the boy, noting how he held his chin up and boldly met the leader's gaze, an expectant look on his face. Loosening his hold on the women, Nûrzgrat gently urged them to part. His eyes flicked over the young Uruk's face and down to the string of sharp white teeth about his neck. A grin spread across his face.

"Well, look at you," he growled low. "I turn my back for a _minute_. You better tell me how you got them. I wanna hear _every detail_." He gripped Thakûf's shoulder, and the young Uruk's chest swelled with fierce pride. "Yuh even _look_ taller. Ain't a boy no more. You're an Uruk grown." Jerking his chin in a nod, Nûrzgrat let him go, and Thakûf hesitantly clapped the leader's upper arm as he'd seen Morkoth do sometimes. Nûrzgrat nodded again and grinned. Thakûf's smile shown like a sun.

Ghru, holding his whelp, stood behind Thakûf with a lop-sided grin on his face that only lasted a moment before the absence of Frû was noted. He shot Morkoth a curious glance, thinking the other Uruk had already been told something. Morkoth shrugged and shook his head.

Raz and Ilsa couldn't even get into the throng, and hopped about beyond the fence of legs, hoping for a break that would allow egress. Morkoth kept his hand on Nûrzgrat's shoulder, unable to let go for some reason. He was terribly glad to see his leader, his _friend_ alive and well and back among them. The unmistakable scent of recent mating was all over both Nûrzgrat and Brytta, and told Morkoth that there was long-sought contentment in his leader. But he also sensed great pain, and patiently awaited its revelation.

Yet he could not resist at least _mentioning_ it.

"Smells good on you," he said quietly to Nûrzgrat.

Sandy was close and overheard. Frowning, she said, "What does?"

Morkoth's grin widened. He pointed at Brytta. "Her."

Both Sandy's and Brianna's eyes widened and they turned to look at Brytta. She knew this moment would come sooner rather than later, and had prepared herself for it. Indulging a half smile, Brytta shrugged. "I took your advice, Sandy. I gave him a chance."

"So... you two are...," Brianna ventured cautiously, her finger pointing from one to the other like a metronome.

"Aye, she's my mate, now stop pesterin' the woman," Nûrzgrat growled.

"You sneaky son of a bitch," Sandy said with a grin. She punched his shoulder. "See? I _told_ you your charm and winning personality were irresistible."

Winking at Nûrzgrat, Brytta corrected with a sigh, "I am afraid he is still a rotten bastard. It was actually his well-formed backside that caught my interest."

Nûrzgrat chuckled and ducked his head, his cheeks darkening. An explosive, barking laugh erupted from Ghru unexpectedly, and a broad grin split his burn-scarred face.

"Oh, I like her better this way," Sandy laughed.

Finally able to squeeze through the amused elders' legs, Ilsa muscled her way to the front and raised her arms eagerly. "Nunca Nûrz!" she cried. Smiling, a thicker lump lodging in his throat, Nûrzgrat lifted Ilsa and hugged her close. She damn near strangled him.

Raz had told Ilsa frequently what the leader had left to do. The little girl drew back and looked around with a frown on her face. Her brow puckered crossly and she fixed Nûrzgrat with an accusing glare.

"Where Frû?" she demanded. "You go find Frû. Where Frû?"

Nûrzgrat's smile disappeared abruptly and he swallowed hard. For a moment, he couldn't breathe, and had to force himself to draw a deep breath. He slowly lowered Ilsa to the ground.

Maybe they all noticed Frûmâdûrz's absence when Nûrzgrat arrived and chose not to mention it right away. They were certainly focused on it _now_. Morkoth and Ghrulagûrz bowed their heads a little, as if they knew what the leader would say, or at least knew it would be bad. Thakûf and Razkaar shifted uncomfortably, sensing the uptake in tension among their elders.

Amusement gone, Sandy's hand rose to her mouth and her eyes filled with dreadful tears. Reaching for Nûrzgrat, she clutched the front of his shirt tightly. Her voice shook hard. "Nûrzgrat... where is he? What... what happened?"

He couldn't look at her and bowed his head. Every time he'd seen Sandy trying so hard to talk sense into Frû flooded his mind. He should have known she'd take it hardest. "We... we found'im," he said, his own voice trembling with raw emotion. If he met her eyes, or Brianna's, he knew he'd lose control. If he saw their tears, his own would follow. He kept his head down. "He couldn't... let go of her. Couldn't leave her behind." Nûrzgrat drew great gulps of air, trying to steady himself, but it did no good at all. He felt again Frû's limp, lifeless body in his arms as though he were back there again, killing that stupid fuckwit _again_. He squeezed his eyes tight and grimaced, for tears were already falling.

"Oh my god," Brianna whispered. She touched Nûrzgrat's cheek and turned his face, making him look her in the eyes. What she saw there made her lips tremble with knowing anguish. "Nûrzgrat... you didn't... kill him, did you?"

His face contorted and tears spilled down his cheeks. "He asked me to," Nûrzgrat sobbed. "He _asked_ me to." He looked from one stricken face to another, pleading with them to understand that he hadn't wanted to do it, if there'd been some other way he would have taken it, it wasn't the _first_ option but the _last_...

But none of them were there. None of them understood the pain Frû felt. Nûrzgrat had a taste of it before Brytta came to love him, and it was plenty enough to drive him to thoughts of ending his own suffering for good and all.

His eyes found Thakûf, stoically holding a distraught Razkaar in his arms, and it struck Nûrzgrat hard for the first time. Maybe he hadn't pulled Frû from the pits as he had those two, but Frû was still one of Nûrzgrat's boys. Maybe Frû was a pain in the ass, but Nûrzgrat had always felt compelled to work on him, make him a better, tougher, stronger Uruk.

Make him a good son.

The miserable grief came on a convulsive wave that took his legs out from under him. Nûrzgrat's knees gave, and he sank to the ground, covering his face in his hands, still trying to hide it. Brytta went to him immediately and knelt down. Taking him in her arms, she urged his head onto her shoulder and held him tightly. He gripped her body, digging his claws into the back of her leather jerkin, and wept hard in bitter remorse.

Sandy nearly dove into Morkoth's arms, nearly hysterical with heartache. He had to hold her up, for she was close to collapse. Ghru was obliged to juggle his daughter and his own sobbing mate at the same time that he felt a strange urging in the pit of his stomach. Something that needed to be done here. Something he'd never felt compelled to do before, and he had seen many die who were arguably more deserving than Frû.

Or maybe none were, because they were not part of this clan. Frû was, and that made all the difference.

Standing a little apart, Mae put her arm around Gwen. Newly joined to this group, they felt awkward and did not wish to intrude on the profound suffering they beheld. Not knowing what else to do, Mae kept one eye on Ashmau as he toddled about, idly tapping on the drums.

Stroking Nûrzgrat's shuddering back and thick hair, Brytta murmured soothingly, "It is all right. Let it out, now. You have needed this. Just let it out. You are home now. This is your family. Let it out."

As Morkoth held Sandy, he reflected on Nûrzgrat's words. Knowing Frû as he did, it was shocking to imagine the Uruk _asking_ for death. For a cowardly piece of shit like Frû to sacrifice himself rather than torment Hengolwen with his obsessive attention... As far as Morkoth was concerned, _that_ was the true measure of what love meant to an Uruk. Were Sandy to ever have a change of heart and leave him, could he do less than Frû if he truly loved her? No, he couldn't. He felt inexplicably reassured by the thought, and kissed the top of her head.

Ghru gently disengaged from Brianna, sensing that she was calming. He handed Hontor off to her. She gave him a slightly startled look, but said nothing. Going to Nûrzgrat, Ghru leaned down and gripped his leader's shoulder. The elder Uruk's tears were nearly spent, and though he could barely look at anyone after such a humiliating outburst, he lurched to his feet. One look from Ghru told him the feeling he'd had days ago was felt by the scarred Uruk as well.

Of course, it would be. They were closer by degree of Orkish blood than any of the others.

Letting his head ease back, Ghru breathed deeply for a few moments, then opened his mouth. A low growl rumbled up from deep inside him, and he closed his eyes, letting it come. He was joined by Nûrzgrat's gruff vocalization, a throaty groan that built into a howl.

Morkoth found himself drawn into the howling, and he added his own mournful sounds to those of his elders. He was not entirely surprised to hear Thakûf's unsure harmony at a slightly higher pitch than theirs. Razkaar was still too aggrieved, but he sat with an arm around Ilsa, telling himself he was comforting _her._ On every other breath, he whimpered his own accompaniment, but could not muster very much more than that.

Ilsa did not understand why no one had answered her question about Frû. Perhaps she'd ask again later when the strange noises stopped.

Retreating from the Uruk-hai, Sandy and Brianna joined Brytta in awkward silence. None had ever witnessed such a thing as was happening now, nor did they grasp that it was not something any of these Uruks had consciously done before. They stood in a cluster, hands on one another's shoulders, howling like wolves mourning a lost alpha. It was not a scene on which Men should intrude.

Sandy was certain that once the shock of Frû's death faded, she would begin to worry about Morkoth. They'd only just spoken about the negative connotations of the bond, and now the 'divorce option' that seemed to be presented was death. It was difficult to accept Frû's choice, even harder to imagine Morkoth making it. She hoped never to feel compelled to _make_ him choose. Her gaze fell to Ashmau, their son, so like his father in more than just looks. The little boy was experimentally patting the drumskin, watching his da curiously and likely wondering what sort of song he was singing.

As Sandy scooped up Ashmau and hugged his little body fiercely, Mae sidled over to Brytta. It amazed her that this woman had fooled so many for so long. But even more stunning was the revelation that she was now Nûrzgrat's _mate_. When Brytta left the settlement, Mae's understanding was that, as Bronhador, the woman had been an accomplished and experienced Orc hunter. It was certainly a curious development.

Keeping her voice low for the sake of discretion and out of respect for the Uruk-hai in their mourning, Mae whispered to Brytta, "Then you are... with Nûrzgrat now?"

Brytta tore her gaze from the huddled males, swallowing her own sympathetic sorrow, and turned to Mae. She was not sure how the woman would respond to such a thing, if the prejudices that were shared not so long ago still found refuge in the midwife's heart. Surely, though, some tolerance must have found purchase, for she was still here and seemingly... content. Yet Brytta stiffened and raised her head defiantly. "Yes. I am."

Mae glanced back at the Orcs, their doleful ululation now diminished to groans, their heads bowed together in shared grief. "I do not condemn you for it," she said softly. Turning back to Brytta, she smiled wanly. "Though I do not share your... preferences, I do look at them with more... respect than I once did. As you must also."

Brytta nodded slowly, then her gaze scanned the settlement as if for the first time. Frowning, she asked in a low voice, "Where is Faelur? Has he taken ill?"

She saw the change come over Mae immediately, though the woman tried to mask it. There was discomfort, sadness, and guilt in her demeanor, and she looked away. Her arms came up to enfold herself. "He... is gone."

Alarmed, Brytta laid a hand on Mae's shoulder. "I am so sorry."

Mae shook her head briskly. "There is no need. He... did not accept... living among them. I suspect he felt... at a loss. This place is outside his comfort, and beyond his control. I am afraid he made Gwen and I... suffer for it." Wincing slightly, she looked at Brytta's concerned face and forced a smile. "His actions were unacceptable, and he was cast out. I do not know where he is."

"Do you... wish it were otherwise?" Brytta asked uncertainly.

"No," Mae replied quietly. "He became something I did not expect, and could not counter. I found I did not wish to. I am glad he is gone." Now her smile was genuine. "I am content."

Having finally torn her eyes from Thakûf, Gwen came over and touched Brytta's arm. "It is good to see you again, Bron-... I mean, Brytta." She flushed with embarrassment.

Brytta smiled and patted the girl's hand. "It is good to be back." Glancing across the settlement, she grinned. "I am pleased a shelter of your own is being built. That _is_ what I am seeing, is it not?"

"Yes," Mae said, beaming. "They have accepted us here. Welcomed us. We all assumed... the other one would return..." She faltered, unsure what to say.

"So did I," Brytta said, then closed her eyes for a moment. "I doubt Nûrzgrat ever truly believed so."

"Tell me," Gwen urged, hoping to distract the woman from what obviously caused her pain. "Have you always gone in the guise of a man?"

Chuckling, Brytta shook her head. "Not always, but for a good many years, yes."

"You must have so many stories, so many adventures to tell of," the girl said wistfully, her eyes bright. "I long to hear them."

Brytta's expression clouded, and she frowned. "There are precious few I wish to recall." At Gwen's abashed look, for she surely must recall now _what_ Brytta did while garbed in men's gear, Brytta smiled. "Perhaps you should seek your own adventures. Weave your own tales."

Gwen grinned once more. "Yes! I would love to see the wonders of this world. Living _here_, I feel I have the freedom to do so."

Mae raised an eyebrow. "As long as you take Thakûf with you," she cautioned. "I do not want you leaving this place without a protector. And I _know_ there are none better."

The mother and daughter shared a knowing smile, but it was Gwen's youthful blush and affectionate glance at the young Uruk that caught Brytta's eye.

"It would seem I have missed a great deal more than I thought," Brytta said, a grin on her face.

* * *

Song lyric: _We Are Young_ by Fun. (because it is hopelessly stuck in my head, thanks to my children)


	29. Epilogue: Endings and Beginnings

**Epilogue: Endings and Beginnings**

"Good lady," Ælfgar said quietly as he approached the woman kneeling by the gnarled old tree on the edge of her small plot of land. He'd sold it to her after the War's end, for she had done for his family while he was away and they spoke highly of her. An avowed bachelor before the War, he'd come home ready to settle down and leave the blood and death behind. How amusing it was that his war-forged heart was melted so easily upon seeing her smile. Though he awkwardly courted her, she remained just beyond his reach.

She was a gentle soul, he'd found, yet with an inner strength he was drawn to. She often went still and quiet, as though listening for something, in the years since the War. She never spoke of why. Then the last few weeks had seen an end to the listening, replaced by a weary sadness. And at the same time each day, she came to this tree and knelt beneath it for some time.

She turned her head at the sound of his voice, but did not reply to his greeting. Ælfgar slowly sank to one knee beside her. _Simbelmynë_ were beginning to sprout in the freshly turned earth at the foot of the tree.

He kept his silence, wondering if she had planted the flowers or if they came to this place on their own. As he pondered them, his eyes rose to the string of animal teeth that hung just above where they grew. He'd been curious about _this_ for nigh on a week now, ever since he first noticed it, but feared asking.

Glancing at her face, Ælfgar sighed.

"Hengolwen," he ventured, no longer able to still his tongue or his questions, "what draws you hither?" He bowed his head after a moment, not expecting an answer.

"Regret," she replied softly.

Startled, Ælfgar looked at her intently. Her gaze remained fixed on the necklace.

"There was one," she continued, her voice sad, "who was devoted to me, as no Man had ever been, nor could ever be. He destroyed everything I held dear. Yet when he found he could not... restore what was lost, he gave me... _all_ he had. His very life." Tears glistened in her eyes. "It is only now that I begin to understand... that vengeance has a bitter taste... and exacts too high a price. Even from the one who seeks it."

Ælfgar looked away, unsure how to respond. He realized he knew almost nothing of her history, least of all _this_. What had she lost? Who was this man who had done her such a wrong?

"I do not understand," he said. "If he wronged you so grievously, and he is now dead, then you are avenged. Take comfort in that, at least."

"You did not see him, at the last," she whispered. "How aggrieved he was, how tormented. I cannot... help mourning for him. Is that not strange?"

"Had you... loved him, at some time before...?" Ælfgar asked awkwardly.

"No," she said softly. "I could never have loved him." Her eyes spilled over and a sob tore from her throat. "But I could not hate him, either."

* * *

It was twilight; the perfect time for emerging from the cave in which his clan lived deep and in secret. Burburûrz sniffed the crisp air and grinned. He double-checked his weapons – long knife, short knife, mattock, bow, quiver – then crept from the narrow opening to the trees a few yards away.

Perhaps it had been a year since Kraibûf last whelped, but he still remembered the smell of those berries she craved. He didn't need Akhûna's sharp nose to tell him his mate's condition; that she was asking for them now told him she was carrying another pup of his, and he hastened to get her some.

Getting out of the cave once in awhile was no hardship, either. Doing so without Fulak or Shagal dragging him by the nose to where _they_ wanted to go was even better. Shagal would likely piss and moan about fetching presents for whimpering Kraibûf-_blagh_, as she called her. He suspected Fulak might sympathize, since he spent a good deal of time seeing to every whim of Shagal's, but likely not if Shagal were around. Which was nearly all the time.

Sighing, Burbur went about his business, pitching his nose up to sniff for those elusive berries, crouching low to push brambles apart in his search. It was good not to have a noseful of _tark_ for once, too.

Over an hour of hunting bore fruit. He found a large shrub of elderberries, and happily dragged the hide bag hanging from his shoulder up to the front. He began plucking clusters of the black berries and dropping them in the bag. He hummed to himself as he did so, imagining what Kraibûf would gift him with this time. A good strong lad? He rather hoped so. The boy she had by Nausaar was a nasty cuss, even so young as he was. Tried to eat Burbur's girl-child right after she was whelped. He'd sworn not to slay his predecessor's offspring, but that little fucker sure tempted him sometimes.

Engrossed in his task and thoughts of his unborn Orcling, he completely missed the _golug-hai_ until they were right up on him. A sharp blade suddenly pressed against his throat, and he froze. Strong hands swiftly pulled his arms behind him and bound his wrists tightly. Too stunned to fight, Burbur just stood there trembling as they took his weapons. The bag he'd been filling with sweet berries for Kraibûf lay spilled on the ground.

"Do not struggle, Orc," one of the _golug-hai_ warned, taking Burbur's arm and steering him through the underbrush. "We wish information; you will give it to us. Cooperate, and we may yet free you."

"We will know if you attempt to deceive us," the other said from behind him. Burbur could feel the tip of the other _golug's_ blade at his back.

Fear quickened Burbur's breath and hammered his heart in his chest. None hated his kind more deeply than _golug-hai_. Indeed, the feeling was mutual, justifiably so, but at the moment, wondering about the origins of generations-old grudges seemed poor entertainment when the consummation of such hatred was so near at hand.

They were going to kill him, and there was nothing he could do about it.

The _golug-hai_ took him to a small clearing and pushed him to his knees on the ground. Burbur's frantic eyes darted around, looking for anything that might be used as a torture device. Just because it _looked_ like a benign campsite with nothing more sinister than a small tent and cold firepit didn't mean a fucking thing when it came to _golug-hai_.

A _golug_ stepped in front of the Orc and roughly grabbed his chin, forcing Burbur to look up. Revulsion contorted the smooth pale face. "You were seen a few weeks ago in the company of a Man. Do you deny it?"

Burbur blinked with surprise.

"Answer!" the other _golug_ snapped.

Swallowing hard, the Orc nodded, then recalling the actual question, he shook his head. The _golug-hai_ exchanged a glance.

"Where was he taken?"

Burbur clammed up immediately.

"Faronhim," the other _golug_ said with exasperation, "they do not cooperate without proper incentive."

"What would you have me do?" Faronhim snapped.

The other _golug_ moved in front of Burbur and smirked as he pulled on a pair of thick leather gloves. Faronhim backed away. "You will talk, Orc. Trust me, you _will_ talk. My friend has little stomach for discourse with your kind. It is most fortunate I am not of like mind."

Burbur nearly fell flat on his back from the first punch to his mouth. Faronhim got behind him and held his shoulders, keeping him from recoiling or retreating from any of the _golug's_ blows. When his nose was broken in a few places and his eyes too swollen to see, only _then_ did the _golug_ stop.

"Now then," he sighed. "You took a man captive a few weeks ago, you and two others of your kind. Does he live?"

Spitting out a loosened tooth with a fair amount of black blood, Burbur curled his lip and snarled, "Aye. Don't think he's wantin' to, though."

The _golug_ who struck him narrowed his eyes. "He is being tortured?"

Burbur smirked. "Don't know as I'd call it _torture_." Then he chuckled.

"What _would_ you call it, then?"

"Just a bit of fun," Burbur leered. Grimacing with disgust, the _golug_ swiftly drew his knife and would have carved another smile across the Orc's neck if his fellow hadn't grabbed his wrist.

"_Please_, Bronnaeg," Faronhim hissed. He held Bronnaeg at bay for several tense moments, their eyes locked, before Bronnaeg backed down. Turning to the Orc, Faronhim snapped, "You say he was taken by you and your fellows, and is still alive." Burbur slowly nodded, narrowing his eyes suspiciously. "How many hold him? Are there only three of you? Five? Ten? One hundred?"

"Ain't tellin' yuh _shit_," the Orc growled. "Think I don't know what you's up to?"

"Why did you capture that man?" Faronhim pressed. "He had done you no harm."

"Don't have to, did he?" Burbur snarled. "Was in our territory. Ours by rights, fair and square."

"Your _territory_?" Bronnaeg laughed mockingly. "Your _rights_? You are Orcs; you have _neither_. Nor _shall_ you."

Faronhim glared at his fellow. "You would not say that if you were before those we guard."

"I might at that," Bronnaeg muttered. "I did not want this duty. If the Lady herself had not begged it..."

"Another time," Faronhim interrupted sharply. Turning to the Orc, he said, "How many?"

Burbur deliberately firmed his mouth, and said nothing.

"Perhaps if he were relieved of his ears...," Bronnaeg mused aloud. He unsheathed a different blade this time. It glowed bright blue in the moonlight. "I am told Orc flesh burns when a sword of Gondolin hews it. Shall we test this theory?"

Wide eyes fixed on the shining light, Burbur shook all over.

* * *

**A/N: **Oh my stars! What in the world will happen next? Stay tuned, because you _know_ there's a'gonna be a sequel. Keep your eyes peeled for _Reconciliation of Mammoth Proportions_.


End file.
